Sever
by DandelionSunset
Summary: From age 11, Katniss has lived in severe poverty and abuse due to her stepfather, Snow. She doesn't know much about hope, love, or trust. However, when she accepts a job offer at a local bakery, she quickly befriends and starts to fall for sweet and gentle Peeta Mellark. Everything starts to change as he opens her eyes and heart to a whole new world of feelings and experiences.
1. Introduction

**Note:** This is a modern day AU. That being said, I will do my best to stay as true to the characters as much as possible. This will have a dark back-story, but it will also be a very sweet love story. It will be a roller coaster of angst/romance. For those wondering: yes, there _will_ be some intimate scenes between them later on. With the plot of this story, it will be a slow progression to get there though. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the story!

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_Chapter One_

**Introduction**

**"**_**Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be."  
― Shel Silverstein**_

I wake to the sound of screaming in the next room.

This is not a rare occurrence; in fact, it happens more often than not. It has for years. I can still remember wonderful days when I'd wake feeling as if life was full of endless possibility and hope, but they all seem so distant now_**―**_so vague, faded, and tarnished. I try not to think of them anymore. It does me no good. This is just how life is and will continue to be. I gave up dreaming of escape long ago. After so many attempts, and being horribly punished at every turn, you learn to cope. That's all you can do. You keep the pain inside, learn to ignore it, and you keep going.

I lie still on my cot, trying not to breathe too loudly or move too quickly. When he's like this, no one wants to exist. He has no prejudice or reason when he's angry. If you get in his way, it's your own fault and you deserve what you get. And what you get depends on how vindictive and sadistic he's feeling that day. You can't really predict it and you sure as hell can't prevent it. It's like a cruel hobby of his by now; he derives some sort of sick pleasure from inflicting pain. Mercy is not in his vocabulary; he only makes things worse if you cry or plead.

Who is 'he'? He is the embodiment of evil.

He also happens to be my stepfather.

His real name is Nefari, but everyone calls him Snow, and if you ever see him it's very obvious why. He has white blond hair that he keeps shaved short, and sickly pale, translucent skin. He's tall and lanky, but he's strong. He likes to prove that fact any chance he can get. His eyes are light brown, though I swear I've seen them turn red when he's in one of his 'moods'. His fits of rage are becoming more unpredictable and frequent here lately, not that he was ever very nice to begin with. Then again, the drugs aren't helping… whether prescribed or illegal.

He also sells drugs whenever he can. He makes a little money from it, but then he buys and trades for other more potent ones, leaving us with less than what we had to begin with. He'll never get punished for it either. He has an understanding with the local sheriffs' office. They're more than a little corrupt, and Snow was raised by the head honcho, Coin. Who, with the knowledge of everyone beneath him, runs a meth lab. He's the biggest supplier in this area and, needless to say, Snow will never be indicted since he knows all about it. He even helps Coin with it sometimes. I've seen him get out of more things, without a blemish on his record, than most would in a lifetime. I know I could never turn to them for help.

I'm in this alone.

I open my eyes and peek over at the cot beside mine. I see my little sister, Prim, staring at the ceiling, not daring to move a muscle. I find it sad that this has become a morning ritual for us – being afraid to get up, be seen, or be heard; we're too nervous to even breathe normally. She's only eleven years old and I hate that she's spent most of her life with this fear. She probably doesn't even remember what life was like before Snow, doesn't remember a time when it wasn't this dreadful. This hell is her normal. Yet Prim is one of the most kindest, sweetest, and gentlest souls you will ever encounter. So timid and heartfelt, she wouldn't even kill a cockroach without feeling sorry for it.

I, on the other hand, have no problem with killing things.

In fact, I kind of have to. I have no choice in the matter. It's either that or starve and, by extension, let my mother and Prim die of hunger, too. I can't let that happen, and it's a reality I face every day. Snow doesn't care, he rarely eats. He doesn't let us sign up for food assistance because then he'd be forced to look for work and that's not something he's intent on doing. As far as Mom working, she hasn't been okay in the head for years. She reached her breaking point long ago and the pieces just never came back together. She's shattered. There's a light inside, reminding us that someone once lived there, but no one is home anymore. She's merely just a shell of a person. I love her, though. I love her, but I don't trust her to save me anymore, and I don't rely on her. She's just there. Just another punching bag I have to try to protect.

Just another reason why I could never leave this place if I tried.

Six months before she met and married Snow, my father had died. He was a good and chivalrous man, always had a smile on his face and treated Prim and me like princesses from a fairytale. I don't remember him ever laying a finger on us in a violent way. He'd often take me to the woods, making trails along the way, singing songs with me. I always loved his voice. Even the birds seemed to stop and listen to him. He taught me how to use a gun, set a trap, and how to fish. He also gave me knowledge about vegetation – what I could eat, what would make me sick, and what would kill me. I loved our nature walks. I always learned something new from them. But never, back then, did I realize that everything he taught me I'd actually have to end up using.

He had been a coal miner, and was tan and muscular with dark hair and grey eyes. I've always been told how much I resemble him. I have the same color of eyes and dark hair which I keep in a single braid to keep out of the way. My father loved my hair, always measuring how long it was, getting excited even when it only grew a few inches**.** I could never bring myself to cut it after his death.

I'm tan as well, like he was, but that has more to do with constantly being outside.

If the sun is out, on most days, Snow locks the door and doesn't let me or Prim enter again until it sets. He says that if we have time to "sit and be lazy" we can find work to do outside. I usually have Prim sit aside while I do everything. She is just so fragile and innocent and I'm… _not_. I don't have the option to be. She'll sit there playing with the corn-husk dolls I made for her, while I grab an axe and chop blocks of wood into quarter pieces to rank. I can always tell she feels bad for not helping, but that she also feels relieved. I know she's scared of the axe; I see her try to prevent a flinch every time the metal makes contact with wood. It's fine though, because I'd rather break my back in the heat rather than in the house being beat on and cussed at. But it's mostly because if we are outside, Prim isn't a target.

And she_ always_ is when it comes to me.

He knows that the best way to hurt _me_ is by hurting _her_. That's the biggest reason why I could never leave or think twice about things. I have to protect her. And I do the best I can. I try, anyway. I happily volunteer for her beatings every time. Some days it works, other days it makes it worse on her. You can't really predict Snow. I've stopped trying to figure him out or believe there is something nice deep down inside of him. There isn't, and there never will be.

I jump as the front door slams loudly. It makes the whole place shake. I hear Snow's old beat up truck roar to life. He quickly peels out away from the house and, as I hear it get farther and farther away, I let out a long sigh of relief. The air seems lighter now; cleaner. It always does when he's gone_**―**_like we can finally smile. I don't, though. I don't even remember the last time I did. It's just best not to. I don't really have a reason to anyway, so it's not as difficult as one would imagine.

"Katniss?" Prim sits up and looks over at me expectantly.

"What?"

"School starts in a week," she states, worry evident in the tone of her voice.

"I know, Prim." I yawn and rub the middle of my eyes with my thumb and index finger. "Don't remind me."

"We don't have _anything_, though."

She speaks the truth, and I don't know what to say or do to calm her fears. Truth be told, I am just as worried as she is. We don't even have a single piece of paper or a pencil to share. Prim needs new shoes. She's grown over the summer and the ones she has don't fit anymore. Luckily, she loves to go barefoot outside... but that won't fly for school or winter coming up. Both of our bodies are growing and our clothes are starting to shred and stink. I just turned seventeen and am nearing the end of my growth spurt, but Prim is only just beginning.

People at school have never been very nice to me, but I don't know how they treat her. I can't imagine any better. Prim is blond, frail, and very shy. I'm not particularly shy; I'm more avoidant. I just don't see the point of talking to others. It takes too much energy to try to care about others when they don't care about me. I have too many other things to worry about. Besides, they don't want to be my friend anyway. They want me to speak so they can make fun of me or use it against me. Other people don't understand. They don't _want_ to understand, either. They just see two dirty, bruised girls wearing rags. They don't stop to think of _why_.

I shrug at Prim's worries, not knowing how to respond, and finally get up. I walk into the living room, if you can call it that. We don't actually do any living in it. We don't have a couch or anything, and the windows have been boarded up with plywood. There are no pictures on the walls, only faded manufactured wood paneling that you see in most trailers. And that's what we live in – an old, repossessed, and destroyed two bedroom trailer. Snow bought it cheaply from a junk yard. Most of the roof is missing in big patches and there are leaks everywhere. Half of the outside wall is torn out in the kitchen hallway. We don't have things that other people have, like a refrigerator, television, phone, cooking stove, toilet, bathtub, or washing machine. We eat things fresh, out of a can, or we cook it on the wood stove. This isn't an option during the summer because of the heat, obviously, so I also made a pit outside out of rocks and cross-wire.

We don't have electricity at all. We use candles, flashlights, and lanterns at night. It's been years since I've watched a television show or listened to the radio for fun. I like to read, though, and it's the one thing I can get away with when it comes to Snow. All I have to tell him is that it's for a book report and he'll allow me to. He can't read or write very well at all, so he has no way of proving me wrong. He always feels intimidated**,** yelling and cursing at me the entire time**. **That being said, I rarely ever have time to read for fun.

We also don't have running water or plumbing. Luckily, there's an old well on the property. We also place buckets and anything else we can find outside to capture rain water. We use the bathroom by using a five-gallon bucket with a makeshift lid on it. To bathe, we use a small tin water tub. I also try to keep clean by swimming in the lake during the summer, but it's impossible to do during the fall and winter months as the water is too cold. As for laundry, we have to wash it by hand, but usually can't afford detergent. We have to hang it all to dry which makes it hard, dingy, and tear easily. Needless to say, I don't wear the latest fashions. I often have to sew and repair old clothes, taking them out and adding patches here and there as I grow. This is obviously not very popular at school. Even people who are decently friendly and feel sorry for me still don't want to be seen with me.

Gale is probably the only friend I do have. His father died in the mines too, and he lives about a mile or two down the gravel road. He's a little older than me, in his early twenties, and isn't in school anymore. I know he'd like to help me with everything, but he has his own problems to contend with and a huge family to help take care of. Let's just say families around here have their skeletons and their demons. Even if Gale could help me get away, and we've talked about running off into the woods to live, I couldn't leave my mom or Prim behind. He couldn't leave his siblings, either. If something happened to any of them, I'd never forgive myself and neither would he.

I pick up my fishing pole and a five-gallon bucket as I head outside. Prim follows me without a word, as she always does. What do I want to do today? Chop wood to rank and sell for a little bit of cash? It's almost ninety degrees out and I don't know if I feel strong enough for it today. I'll have to wake a little earlier to do that tomorrow. We don't have a thing to eat besides some apples, corn, and green-beans, so fishing is definitely on the agenda for the day. I'll also set some snare traps for some squirrel or rabbit meat later. I take a few apples from the tree, as I find that it helps if I put a few pieces in the traps to lure them in.

I prefer to fish over anything else. It's less messy and easier to transport, clean, and cook. I also like digging in the dirt, under rocks, stumps, and other things to find plump earthworms and grub worms. If it's been really dry, like the drought we've been experiencing this summer, I'll catch horseflies and locusts. Fish aren't very picky eaters and tend to love the insects even more than the worms at times. I have to climb through a barbed-wire fence, down a hill, and through some patchy woods before I get to the lake. It's on our neighbor's private property, but no one ever checks up on it. I've been coming here for years and no one has ever caught me. I've never seen anyone out here, either.

I made my own fishing pole. It's really just a thick stick with braided yarn, a weight, and a hook, but it gets the job done. I've even caught well-sized catfish and trout with it. Dad taught me how to make it when I was a child, calling it my 'Laura Ingalls' pole. Sometimes I like to pretend that I'm not fishing for the sole purpose of keeping us alive, but that I'm a pioneer woman of days long ago, merely fishing for food as a normal pastime in order to cook a delicious meal for her family; that I'm doing this with pride instead of desperation. It makes it easier, to imagine myself as someone else... in a time where something such as this would be considered a normal thing, and not a last resort of a desolate situation.

After I catch a few fish for the two of us to eat and hold us over, we move on to one of my favorite things to do: pick blackberries and dewberries. Luckily there are a ton of them growing wild where we live, which is in the middle of nowhere. We don't have any neighbors nearby, and in every direction we have only trees and fields as far as the eye can see. We have to be careful not to step on any snakes, though, as they love to hang around the bushes. If either of us ever received a bite from a poisonous one, we'd just be out of luck. Snow wouldn't care. In fact, he'd probably be happy because it'd be one less person to worry about feeding. Not that he worries about that much at all anyhow.

We like to eat the berries as we pick them, as some sort of delectable and forbidden candy, and then we travel on foot to neighboring houses to see if they will buy them. I don't charge much, because I know if I do they won't buy and my trip will be made pointless. If they're cheap, they might have pity on us and buy them anyway. I usually charge around eight dollars for half of a five-gallon bucket. Thankfully, a lot of the older women around here like to purchase them because they like making jams, pies, and preserves.

It's a little out of the way, but I always like going to the Mellarks' place. While the wife is always hateful and disdainful towards me, as if I am not even fit to look at, let alone speak to her, the husband is always very kind and understanding. Many times he pays me double or triple because, as he says, "these blackberries will be perfect for the tarts!" He owns a bakery in town, but I haven't been inside of it for years, since before my father died. I don't really go into town much anymore, except in passing while on the bus to school or when Gale will take me. Anyway, Mr. Mellark usually gives me a couple of cheese buns or cinnamon rolls to eat, and always insists on giving me a ride back. I never let him go down the driveway and see where I live, though.

He also has three sons. The two older boys are rambunctious and rude. They're good looking and know it, with blond hair, blue eyes, and athletic bodies. Both of them are popular and on sports teams at school. Well, _were_. The oldest one graduated last year. I avoid talking to them, or even being seen by them. They never have anything nice to say and make me feel uncomfortable.

The youngest, Peeta, is the same age as me. We've shared classes together over the years. He doesn't ever say much, but I can tell that he's not like his brothers. He's just as handsome as they are, with the same blond, wavy hair and blue eyes, but he seems to be more of a gentle soul like his father. I'm not sure if this has always been his personality, or simply because he lost his leg a few years ago due to an accident. But he always tells his brothers to back off when they pick on me, so he can't be all bad. I can't say he's ever been mean, even if he's never said anything to me, and that's more than I can say for nearly everyone else.

It's a little after noon when I drop my pole and Prim off at the house. I tell her to stay outside, out of view of Snow, until I get back. She's tiny and weak, and I don't think she could make the journey in this heat with me.

I set off in an attempt to sell the berries and hopefully make a few dollars before school starts. All I can think of is how badly Prim needs shoes and school supplies. If I make enough today, I can easily go to school the first day and sneak off before first hour or at lunch to buy her shoes. She might have to miss the first day, though. Anyway, the school knows we're not strangers to truancy and they don't seem to care. They've always turned a blind eye.

Last year, Prim had to miss a whole week because of a deep bruise on her face in the shape of a hand—_Snow's_ hand. It made him paranoid, as it should, and he kept her home. He can bypass the local authorities, but if child services and the state got involved, that's another thing entirely.

I thought I'd die of all the panic attacks I experienced at school that week, thinking of what kind of hell he was probably inflicting on her while I was gone. By the end of the week**,** I argued with him to stay home and got struck repeatedly with the metal end of a leather belt. I expected this, though, along with the bruising and his paranoia. I was able to stay home with Prim because of it. So, in my eyes, I had won.

I bite my lip, trying to get the worry out of my head. I venture on, feeling determined and hoping against all odds that people will be generous today. I can't really afford for them not to be.


	2. Mr Mellark's Offer

_Chapter Two_

**Mr. Mellark's Offer**

_**"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." - Christopher Robin**_

It's late afternoon by the time I finally reach the Mellarks' place.

My hair and clothes are sticking to me in the summer heat; the temperature is in the nineties today, and the humidity isn't helping things. I had to stop numerous times to recuperate and gain a little energy to carry on. Every now and then, I'd take a small sip from the water bottle I have stored in an old fanny-pack around my waist. I don't drink much because I have to make it last.

The bucket full of blackberries is making my arms feel very sore. I alternate between hands and keep going. I don't have the option of turning back or giving up. I have to do this. I think of the alternative—of Prim having to go to school barefoot—and it gives me strength to keep moving.

My mouth is parched, and I feel lightheaded and dizzy when I finally reach their front porch. The Mellarks have a really nice home. The lawn is always mowed and the bushes manicured. The house is perfectly white, two-stories high, and has a basement and a wrap-around porch. They are definitely not poor.

It always makes me nervous to knock on their door, because I never know who will open it. If it's the wife or the two older sons, they usually give me a hard time. The last time I was here, the wife started ranting about "throwing pearls at swine." I guess paying me for my hard work made me a pig? I don't know. I don't like her though. I've always wondered how such a nice guy like Mr. Mellark ended up married to such a witch.

I gather my courage and knock hard on the front door. I wait, holding my breath and hoping against all odds that Mr. Mellark opens the door. My heart leaps to my throat when I notice wavy blond hair, but feel slightly less panicked when I realize it's only Peeta. He's harmless, I know this much, and he won't be mean to me.

He looks surprised when he sees me. His bright blue eyes go wide as they study me, and then land on the bucket. I feel self-conscious and awkward under his gaze. I know I look like a sweaty, horrible mess. I'm not here to impress anybody or make friends, I remind myself.

"Yeah?"

"Is your dad home?" I ask quickly. I fix my gaze intently at the ground. I don't want to look at him; it makes me feel inferior. I know his eyes are judging me, and his mind is insulting me, even if he's too kind to say anything out loud.

"No. He's still in town, but he'll be back in a little while." He shrugs and then adds a little uneasily, "I can get my mom if you _want_—"

"No!" I cut him off, my wide eyes meeting his emphatically. I shake my head, knowing that probably seemed rude. "I mean… can I wait for your dad? I don't think your mom likes me very much."

"My mom doesn't like _anyone_ very much. Not even _me_," he replies in a half-joking, tender voice. He smiles slightly, but I can tell there's some truth to his statement. "Don't feel bad about it. Anyway, she's upstairs right now. You can come in and wait for Dad if you want. I'm just doing a little baking." He steps aside and holds the door open for me.

"Thank you," I mumble quietly. I pick up the bucket of blackberries and walk into the house. It feels wonderful inside; they have air conditioning. It's the first time I've felt cool like this all summer long. I find myself wondering what it must feel like to live in this sort of luxury and not even think twice about it. It must be nice.

I follow him nervously as he limps to the kitchen. The whole place smells like fresh bread and it makes my stomach growl. As I enter the dining area, I see numerous trays full of buns and cakes on the table and counter-top. I'm instantly hit with how hungry I truly am, feeling my stomach and head ache from the lack of energy. I feel dizzy. I almost want to wait outside again, because it's such torture to be around all of this delicious food and not be able to have any of it.

He turns to me suddenly and asks, "You thirsty?"

I shrug, keeping my face passive. I'm waiting for him to just be mean or make a rude joke like one of his brothers or anyone at school would.

Peeta evidently takes my shrug as a yes, because he grabs a glass from the cabinet and opens the refrigerator. He takes out a pitcher of what looks like iced-tea and pours me some, then walks over and hands it to me. "If you don't like sweet tea, we have ice water**,** too."

I take it from him without hesitation. "This is fine. Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replies with a small smile. He turns his back to go over to the oven, and I take the chance to drink the contents of the glass in one continuous gulp. I'm a little embarrassed when I'm done though, because I see that he's already turned back and staring at me with an amused expression. I feel my face turn red and avert my eyes.

"You _are_ thirsty, huh?" He goes to the fridge again and takes the pitcher out, then sets it down on the table. "Here, have as much as you want. I can always make more."

I eye it a little suspiciously, and then look at him the same way. What's the catch? People are never this nice to me without expecting something in return or trying to make fun of me in some way. I stand there, with the empty glass in my hand, wanting more… yet not moving a muscle.

"Seriously," he replies, his face sincere. He gestures towards the sugared drink. "Feel free, Katniss."

My heart beats fast when I hear him say my name. I didn't know that he knew it; I've never heard him say it before. Then again, we've never really ever talked.

"You know my name?" I ask, and then feel a little silly for it. Of course he knows my name. We've had the same classes for years. I'm such an idiot.

"Yeah," he answers slowly, looking a bit confused. "It's very different. Not very easy to forget."

"Yeah? Well, neither is _Peeta_," I say, a slight defensiveness to my voice. I always thought it was a bit weird that a baker would name their kid after a type of bread. Who is he to judge my name? At least I'm named after a flower, and not cooked flour.

He laughs slightly and shakes his head. "I meant it as a _good_ thing."

"Oh." I feel like an even bigger idiot now.

I decide to trust him for the moment and walk over to the pitcher. I pour another glass and sip it a little slower than the first. I stand there, feeling awkward, as he looks at me like I'm some bug under a magnifying glass. I guess he hasn't seen many poor girls before.

"You can sit down, you know. You don't have to stand the entire time you wait."

"Maybe I _want_ to stand," I answer stubbornly.

"Do as you want," Peeta tells me, holding his hands up in mock defeat, "But the chair would probably be a lot more comfortable. Just saying."

I hesitate for a few moments, feeling my feet and leg muscles throb and ache from the long walk. I grudgingly decide to take his advice. I pull a chair out and sit down. It feels strange to be sitting in such a nice house, being treated like a normal person. I don't really know how to react to it. I don't say anything and keep my eyes fixed on the floor.

"Feel free to eat anything you see in front of you," he suddenly tells me. I look at him with narrowed eyes. Surely I heard him wrong?

"What?"

"They're all going to the bakery this evening. Chances are half of it will end up in the trash at the end of the night, anyway," he answers casually and shrugs. "I'd rather someone eat it."

I search his face, trying to see if he's about to tell me he's joking or something. He seems honest enough, though. I really don't get why he's being this way. I came to his house to sell his dad some berries, not be treated like I'm a special guest or something.

I grab a cheese bun from a tray, anyway. If he's going to offer me food, I'm not going to deny it. Truth be told, it's been ages since I've even tasted bread. I pull it apart in halves and stuff some into my mouth – chasing it down with a little bit of the tea. I feel guilty that I'm sitting here, eating and drinking such delicious things, and Prim is stuck back at home starving.

"Do you like it?" I hear him ask curiously.

I nod, not feeling like telling him with words.

"You can take a couple home to your sister, too," Peeta tells me. "If you think she would like them."

"You know I have a sister?" I ask in surprise, raising my eyes to meet his.

"Prim, right?" I nod slowly. I understand why he'd know my name and who I am, having classes with me and all, but he has no reason at all to know about Prim or even care. He doesn't ride the bus with us. His parents and brothers go into town every morning for the bakery and he rides with them. "I've seen her with you."

I want to ask more, but I don't. I don't want to seem overly curious.

I hear the oven buzzer go off suddenly, and he slowly walks over to it. I see him look inside and shake his head, seemingly disappointed. He explains, "I burnt them a little."

Peeta takes the pan out and pours them into a brown paper bag. I want to ask if I can keep them; I don't care if they are slightly singed on top. But I don't. I know it'd be impolite and disrespectful.

He turns to me. "You want these? I'm going to throw them away if you don't."

I don't hesitate; I nod my head quickly. He walks over and hands me the bag, looking particularly pleased with himself for having burned a batch of rolls. I know they're not tainted or anything though, because they were baking before I even knocked on the door.

After about thirty minutes of sitting there, Mr. Mellark comes in the front door. He notices Peeta, the bread, and then finally, me.

"Why, hello Miss Katniss. What can I do for you this fine evening?" he asks cheerfully.

"I brought fresh blackberries, and I'm hoping you'll want to buy some," I blurt out in a rush, feeling my face heat up at asking.

His eyes fall on the bucket of blackberries and then to me. He seems to be thinking something over in his head. It makes me uncomfortable and slightly impatient, having to wait for his answer. Finally he asks, "You picked all these today?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's a scorcher out there! You walked here, too?" His voice has a sympathetic edge to it. I know where Peeta gets his kindness from; it's definitely not from his mother or his brothers.

I nod my head, and repeat, "Yes, sir."

He tilts his head slightly and scrunches his eyebrows together in contemplation. From the corner of my eye I can see Peeta off to the side, watching us. It makes me feel very self-conscious, like I'm a lowly beggar, and I wish he wouldn't see me like this.

"How about," he finally replies, looking as if he's adding sums in his head, "Fifty dollars for the entire bucket?"

"Fifty!" My mouth opens in awe. I close it quickly and shake my head to rid the shock. I try to regain my composure again. "I mean, yes. Sure. That would be wonderful."

I feel my heart beating fast from excitement. That's enough to buy Prim shoes, supplies, and then some! I knew coming here would be a good idea. Mr. Mellark is a truly decent person, and there's not many like him left in the world.

"It's a deal then!" He smiles brightly and pulls out a $50 bill. He hands it to me, and I instantly feel like the richest person in the world when I hold it in my hands. "Just one more thing…."

I look at him nervously, my eyes narrowing in confusion.

I knew there would be a catch.

"My eldest son is going off to college. I'm going to be one person down at the bakery in the evenings," he continues, looking at me as if he's counting on me for something. I don't know why he's telling me all of this, but I listen to him all the same. "I need someone dependable. Someone hard working. You seem to fit the bill. Would you be interested in a part time job, Miss Katniss? I'll compensate well."

My mouth opens, but I can't seem to find my voice. I don't know what to say. I didn't expect this... not at all. I'm assuming it would be after school, and that would mean Prim would have to go home alone. I'm not sure how I feel about that. At the same time, during the winter, it's a lot harder to make money off of the land and eat off of it, too. It's always a really rough time, and a job would greatly improve everything.

"I'd love to, but my sister…." I trail off, not knowing how to finish.

"She's welcome to tag along with you," he offers kindly. I feel instantly relieved. The answer is obvious now. One other thing weighs on my mind, though.

"I don't have transportation into town."

"We'll make sure you always have a ride. Right, Peeta?" Mr. Mellark asks, and I see Peeta nod quickly. He looks to be just as surprised as I do at the offer, but he doesn't seem angry or embarrassed by it. Not yet, anyway. Wait until people at school find out. He'll probably hate me then.

"Sure then," I finally reply, not seeing any other reason to deny the job. I feel sort of like I'm in a dream. I'm not used to such kindness. I continue, respectfully, "I'd be honored to work for you."


	3. A Ride Home With Peeta

_Chapter Three_

**A Ride Home With Peeta**

_**Before you were, or any hearts to beat, weary and kind one lingered by His seat; He made the world to be a grassy road before her wandering feet.**_

_**-W.B. Yeats**_

"Great!" Mr. Mellark beams excitedly. "Will you be available to start work next Monday, after school?"

I feel my gut tighten with nerves and I'm unsure of how to answer. I don't know how I'm going to tell Snow about this. He's very unpredictable, and there's no way of knowing how he'll react. Still, I can't turn this opportunity down just because I'm afraid he'll react negatively. He always does anyway and at least this will be worth enduring it for.

"Sure," I answer. I shrug my shoulders and look at the floor. I can feel Peeta's eyes staring at me from across the room. I can only wonder what he thinks about all of this. I almost feel sorry for him; I know people at school will talk. I'm sure he does**,** too. We live in a small town and they _will _notice. I don't mind so much that they say bad things about me; I'm used to it by now. But I feel bad dragging someone else into it... especially someone as nice as Peeta. I try not to think about it, though. I _need_ this job... not for me, but for Prim. I can't worry about what others will say. I ask, "Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"Just yourself. We'll take care of everything else," Mr. Mellark assures me. I nod, not knowing how to reply. I'm really thankful and more than a little overwhelmed by his generosity. However, I've never been very good at expressing myself verbally. I'm sure he knows how I feel, though. I know he didn't have to do this… they _are_ a family ran business, after all. He's doing this because he knows I need the help. I don't like being viewed as a charity case, but I also know that Mr. Mellark is only doing this out of the kindness of his heart. I can't object to that, nor can I afford to.

He turns to Peeta. "Would you care to give this young lady a lift back when you head into town?"

My pulse quickens and I feel my face heating up. I don't want Peeta to see where I live. And besides, he's done enough this evening. I expect him to object, sigh heavily, or just say no, but all he says is, "Sure. Of course."

"You _really_ don't have to—"

"It's on the way. It's no problem." He shrugs his shoulders and looks at me a little strangely; his eyebrows are scrunched together in contemplation, as if he's trying to figure something out. It makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. I find myself fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, avoiding his eyes again. I know he's nice outwardly, but I can't shake the feeling that he's thinking horrible things about me.

I also wonder if he's saying he'll give me a ride out of respect for his father. It's a short distance between our houses by car, but it's still long enough that someone might see me with him. Peeta is handsome and has no shortage of friends. I know a lot of girls like him, even. So why would he willingly commit social suicide by being seen with me? I'm honestly not worth it.

I silently watch as Mr. Mellark goes over to him, leans down by his ear, and whispers something. I try my hardest to hear, but I don't catch it. I see Peeta's face turn a little redder and he avoids my gaze. I'm both curious and paranoid. I know Mr. Mellark wouldn't say anything bad, but I still know it's about me. I know he doesn't mean to be, but I find it a little rude. I don't like it when people whisper about me; I always assume the worst. It makes me feel out of place in my own skin… which isn't too different from how I normally feel, really. Still, I don't like the feeling.

Peeta shakes his head, and I hear him give a quiet and embarrassed, "_Dad_…"

Mr. Mellark looks back at me with a knowing smile. I have no idea what's going on, and I'm afraid to ask. I fix my eyes on the floor when he leaves the room again, ruffling Peeta's hair in a joking manner before doing so.

It's only Peeta and me again. My stomach is full of butterflies and I am not exactly sure why. I just feel really nervous. It might be because of the sudden change in Peeta's demeanor. It's slight, but it's there. He's avoiding looking at me now. I guess I can understand that, though; I'm not exactly a prize to look at. I watch as he runs his hands through his wavy dark-blond hair, trying to fix it again.

"Sorry about that," he mumbles. He's rushing around, putting plastic wrap over all of the trays of baked goods.

"About what?" I find myself asking. I'm genuinely curious about what he's apologizing for. He didn't do anything wrong. Then again, I know what it's like; I apologize for things I don't do all the time. It's just second nature for me to say sorry.

"You didn't—?" he stops and looks at me questioningly, searching my face. I look back at him, and he turns away again. He distracts himself with the plastic wrap. "Nothing."

"Okay…."

I feel awkward. Why is he suddenly acting so weird? Is it because his dad offered me the position at the bakery? Is he too nice to say that he's mad or upset about it? It kind of makes me feel a bit defensive, but I can understand why he'd feel that way, too. Mr. Mellark didn't really ask him how he felt about giving me the job. Almost anyone else wouldn't even be this nice about it.

I won't ask him, though. I know that if Peeta were to say anything mean, it would make me feel horrible. It just wouldn't suit him; somehow, hearing something nasty come from such a kind person would be more heartbreaking than if ten cruel people said the same thing.

"Do you need any help?" I finally ask him. I might as well make myself useful. So far, I've just been standing off to the side, watching him bustle about as if I'm not there.

He stops for a moment and looks at me. He bites his lip and looks fleetingly at all the covered trays. "Not really. I mean… they're all done now. Thanks, though."

I nod my head and cross my arms over my chest.

"Actually," he starts a bit timidly. His face is still a bit red and it seems like he's trying to avoid looking at me; probably because he's mad or embarrassed he might be seen with me. "Would you mind helping me load these into the car?"

"Sure!" I say a bit too enthusiastically, happy to be useful in some way. I instantly feel like an idiot. I clear my throat, and walk over to him as casually as I can. "I mean, no. I don't mind. It'll give me some practice. For the job."

He lifts a pan of bread buns and places it in my open arms. He looks at me with a small smile, which relieves me a bit, and shakes his head. "You won't be doing much loading or lifting. Probably just baking, decorating, and cashiering mostly."

I nervously bite my lip and look away as he lifts a tray in each of his arms.

"I don't really know how to bake or decorate," I admit.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll teach you! It's not too hard; just takes a little practice." He says this as if he's excited about it. I really wish I knew how he really felt about everything. He's kind of hard to read. And I'm an observer. I'm usually great at observing things about people. Most quiet people are; but he's sort of quiet, too, which makes it more of a challenge. I still won't ask, though. "The car's out front."

I nod, following him outside until we reach an older white car. It's not fancy and new, but it's still really nice. There are no dents or rust on the body, unlike most of the cars and trucks we've had over the years. He opens the trunk, and I place the tray down inside. He does the same.

Without a word, he goes around me – to the passenger side door—and opens it.

"I just have to get two more trays. You can go ahead and sit in the car, if you'd like…?" I sit down inside and then he closes the door. He smiles softly and tells me, "I'll be right back."

I watch as he goes inside to retrieve the rest of the baked goods. When he disappears from sight, I look around his car. It's pretty clean; not super fancy, yet a lot nicer than I'm used to. It smells like fresh bread, which makes sense. He has a case of CD's, but I don't look at them. I barely know him, and it seems like it'd be nosy and intrusive.

A few minutes later, I jump as I hear the trunk close.

I find myself holding my breath when Peeta comes around and opens the driver door. He gets in and shuts it, then hands me the brown bag of burnt rolls that I had forgotten inside. He turns to me. "I'm guessing you still want these, right?"

I nod and place the bag in my lap, thankful that he remembered. "Yes. Thank you."

"When you start at the bakery, you'll probably get tired of them after a while," he says as a shy smile spreads across his face. "Dad didn't tell you, but you'll be welcome to take home whatever we don't sell at the end of the day."

"Really?" I ask in surprise. He nods and starts the car. I doubt he really knows how much this means to me, but I feel like a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Just knowing that Prim won't have to go hungry as long as I have this job makes me overjoyed. I suddenly feel like hugging him, but I don't. Instead, I lean closer up against the door, feeling embarrassed for even thinking it… as if he can read my mind or something. I say in a quiet, casual voice, "That's cool."

He backs out of the driveway, and with his eyes still on the gravel road before him, tells me, "Sorry about the car. It's as old as I am. It's mine though, and it runs okay. So I guess it's better than nothing, right?"

"I think it's nice," I reassure him. It's not a lie. I don't know how to drive, but if I did and I had a car like this, I'd be proud of it. And so should he.

"Thanks." I see him smile, but he doesn't take his eyes off of the road. I can't tell if he's avoiding looking at me or if he just really likes to concentrate on his driving. "That's good to know. You'll probably be riding in it a lot…."

"Why?"

"I'll be giving you rides back and forth for work," Peeta quickly explains, seemingly a little embarrassed - as if his prior statement could have meant something else.

"Oh."

I don't know what else to say. This whole day has been a little overwhelming. I didn't expect any of this, and I'm not sure how to take it all in. I place my hand in my pocket, feeling the $50 bill inside. I'm still a little in shock about it.

"You'll be working with me, by the way. I'll be training you. My brothers don't really hang around the bakery much, if you're worried about that. I know they can be jerks. Anyway, Appam is off at college, and Proja has his sports training and games. When he _does_ work, it's only on weekends with Dad." I can't help but notice a little bitterness in his voice. I'm guessing he's not very close to his brothers; I never really got that vibe anyway. He's so different from them, personality-wise. They all look quite a bit alike, though. I remember that Peeta used to play sports too, before he lost his leg. I never really knew the whole story behind that; just that it was an accident. It wouldn't be right to ask him, either. Not now, anyway.

I see my driveway coming up. Before I can say anything, he's turning the blinker on to turn in. I feel slightly panicked. I don't want him to see where I live.

"Uh… you can let me out here!" I say quickly.

"What?" he asks in confusion, but stops the car. "It's not that much further, I can—"

"No. Please… just let me out here?" I find myself pleading. I open the door before he can convince me otherwise. Not that he could. I will never be okay with anyone seeing what I have to live in. It'd be mortifying.

"Okay." He looks at me a little sadly. Or I guess that's what it is. I get out of the car, grabbing the brown paper bag in my hand. I shut the door, but the window is rolled down.

"Thanks for the ride," I tell him sincerely.

"Anytime," he replies. I nod, and then start to walk away. I hear him call my name and so I turn to him again.

"You know I wouldn't judge you, right?"

I let out a long breath and look away. I shrug my shoulders. I know he's just being nice. Anyone would judge the way I live; even someone as kind as him. Sure, he wouldn't say it out loud… but I'd know what he'd be thinking. I just reply with a quick, "See you Monday." And then I turn back around and keep walking.

I hear his car go in reverse behind me, and feel relieved that he's gone again. He's nice, but this is a world that he just wouldn't understand. I wouldn't expect him to. No one should have to understand this; I don't even.

When I know he's gone, I sit down on a tree trunk and open the bag of burnt bread buns. Except… they aren't burnt anymore. My eyes narrow in confusion. Peeta must have switched them out with the fresh ones. There's also a few cinnamon rolls mixed in.

Seriously, why is he so nice? I don't expect it and I really don't deserve it.

After I eat a cheese bun, I get up and walk the rest of the way home; if you can really call it that. It's almost dark now, with the sun setting behind the trees. I see a familiar truck in the driveway. My face lights up in excitement. I haven't seen him for most of the summer, since he's been working so much...

It's Gale.


	4. A Visit From Gale

_Chapter Four_

**A Visit From Gale  
**

**_"I laugh, I love, I hope, I try, I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too. So we're really not that different, me and you." _**

_**-Colin Raye** _

As I approach, I notice Gale and Prim sitting together under a huge maple tree playing a game. They've set old beer cans up in a row on an old rail-road tie, and are taking turns tossing rocks to knock them down. I hear Prim laugh in accomplishment as she hits her target. Gale then gives her an encouraging high-five before he takes his turn, his grey eyes narrowed in concentration. I notice that his dark hair is cut short, and that he looks like a giant beside Prim.

I look around; I don't see Snow's truck anywhere and I feel my nerves calm slightly because of it. At least I don't have to deal with him right now. I don't want this dream of a day to turn into a nightmare; not yet. I know it'll come eventually, but at least for now I can enjoy things for a little bit longer while he's gone. He's probably out dealing or high out of his mind somewhere, and I know that when he comes back things are going to be hell. He's not very pleasant normally, but when he's coming down off of a high, you don't want to be seen or heard. You don't want to breathe or even exist in his proximity.

I take a deep breath and try not to think of that future dread. There's no way of escaping it or lessening it in any way, so there's really no use in dwelling on it. I'll deal with it when it comes.

"Katniss!" Prim is the first to see me. She springs up automatically and runs over, nearly knocking me over as she wraps her tiny arms around my waist with force. The bag of bread buns are knocked to the ground. "I was really worried! You were gone for so long!"

"I'm perfectly fine, Prim. Just got held up for a bit," I reassure, feeling her body shake. "It'll be all right." She's still holding on to me tightly though, as if she's afraid to let go. I rub her back soothingly and glance over at Gale.

"Hey," he weakly says, looking as if the scene in front of him is making him uncomfortable. Like me, he's never really had a lot of affection in his life, and doesn't know how to react when he sees it. "Been keepin' okay?"

I shrug and keep my face passive. "I'm alive."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he asks bitterly, "Snow still being Snow?"

I sigh and steady my hands on Prim's shoulders. "Been more like a blizzard lately."

I can see the muscles tense in his face. I know that he wants to let a string of expletives out, yet he's refraining because of Prim's presence. Gale has always had a lot of rage in him since his father died, and rightfully so. He was thrust into manhood and responsibility from a very young age, with no choice in the matter. He's the oldest of four and, like me, was forced to live off of the land to survive and provide for his family. His mother went into a strong depression after the sudden death of her husband, much like my own mom, and resorted to alcohol and drugs as a way of escape. She attempted to find work, and managed to get a few part-time minimum wage jobs here and there, but they never lasted long. She had never worked a day in her life until she was forced, and couldn't find any enthusiasm for it despite the four children depending on her. She'd always call in so much that they'd eventually let her go. It was always a predictable repeating cycle with her, or so Gale has told me.

Lately, though, her health has been rapidly deteriorating and she _can't_ work anyway. She's been bedridden by her doctor and can't even walk around without the help of an oxygen machine. Gale has had to shoulder all of the responsibility, taking care of his siblings and making sure all of the bills get paid. As soon as he turned sixteen, he had to drop out of school and pick up two jobs, and he's been working them ever since. I rarely get to see him anymore because of it, but I understand why.

He's four years older than me, just having turned twenty-one, and he's always been like a big brother. We've known each other since we were young; our fathers used to be great friends. They grew up together, and we would see each other all the time when we were kids. He couldn't stand me back then, though. He thought he was too old and cool to hang out with me. He annoyed me too, so I went out of my way to annoy him back as much as I could. We pretty much hated each other. Not until our fathers were killed, and we were both faced with how horrible reality is, did we find friendship in each other. At first, it was more about survival. We'd go hunting and fishing together, mostly in silence. We didn't want to be alone though; somehow just knowing we didn't have to face everything by ourselves brought a little comfort in the situation.

We were neighbors then. It was actually through Gale's mother that my own mother met Snow. My mom didn't know it at the time, but he was coming by to supply Gale's mom with pills and drugs. However, he'd come over and talk with my mother as if he were a perfect gentleman. He'd shower her with unexpected things such as food, clothes, and eventually the occasional rose. He treated Prim and me decently at the time; but this was all an act obviously. He saw my mom's weakness and preyed on it. He knew that my mom would get life insurance and settlement money from my father's death. And my mom and her two children seemed like an easier hassle to him than Gale's mother and her four children. After all, two little girls would be a lot easier to control than three boys and a girl, especially since Gale was already the same size as Snow at the time.

My mom was intent on not marrying again; she thought she would never get over my father. They were very much in love, and his death was extremely hard on her. I remember her crying all of the time back then; I'd go out into the woods and pick bouquets of flowers for her to cheer her up. She'd just smile through tears and place them in an old mason jar full of water, but she'd never talk about anything. It wasn't until she got pregnant again that things changed.

Snow proposed to her and, feeling like she had no choice in the matter and that he seemed like an okay guy, she said yes. It would be the worst mistake of her life; of all of our lives. They didn't even have a real wedding. He went to the courthouse and got a marriage license. And then the real Snow started to make an appearance shortly after.

He bought the shabby trailer we live in now and moved it a small distance away from where we used to live. It's about a mile down a gravel road, off of another main gravel road. We're placed in the middle of a field behind a gate and barbed wire, with no one around. No one could, or can, hear our screams or our cries, and I'm pretty sure this is what he was going for. It took him no time at all to spend every dime of the money my mom got from my dad's death. He blew it on stupid things like drugs and a couple of old cars that he blew the motors up in for fun, just because he "felt like it."

My mom would fight back with him then. He'd beat on her every day; he didn't care that she was pregnant. I was only eleven, but I'd try to take up for my mom… throwing my arms around his neck, trying to pull him off of her; tossing anything at him that my small hands could. He'd turn around and start to beat me instead. I remember the first major injury he gave me; he grabbed my arm and twisted it until it snapped. I still remember the searing pain, and not being able to use my arm for a long time. Mom had prior experience as a nurse, and tried to reset it as best she could; placing it in an old sling we had. They never took me to the hospital. I think Mom wanted to, but she was afraid child services would be called and we'd be taken away from her.

I never said anything because I was afraid. I didn't want to lose my mom or my little sister by being taken away. Besides, Snow made sure to fill my head with horrible stories of kids being murdered and abused by adoptive families and foster homes. I now know most of those tales were lies to keep me from talking, but I still don't want to lose Prim or my mom, no matter how lost she is. I'll be 18 in a year; I've always dreamt of leaving here and trying to take them with me when that time comes. Only, I didn't know how I'd come up with the money. This job opportunity has opened a door for that to happen, and I only hope that Snow won't be aware of the plan.

Mom had tried to get away hundreds of times in the beginning, but she didn't have anywhere to go and no one she could rely on. She didn't know how to drive and had no resources. Her own family was abusive and mostly addicts, and she found that they really just didn't care to be involved. They felt that Snow was her husband, and she had to deal with the consequences. For the most part, they thought she was being dramatic. She eventually stopped speaking with them because they'd always take his side; he'd put up a good ol' boy act around everyone else besides us.

Her mind started slipping gradually. It started out with him beating on us and implying that he poisons her food and drinks – causing her to avoid eating and drinking, drugging her with pills that made her sleep for days and cause her to lose her memory little bit by little bit. The final straw was when, one day, he dragged her by the hair around the trailer. I can still hear her screams and pleads like ghosts that haunt my mind. Her seven-months-pregnant belly hit a stump with force, but this just made him laugh. He started to kick her repeatedly in the stomach until she passed out. He wouldn't take her to the hospital either.

Two weeks later, she went into labor. She gave birth to a baby boy with broken bones and an injured heart and kidney. I don't really know all of the details since I was so young. I do know that she held him in her arms until he took his last breath. He only lived for an hour until he succumbed to his injuries. She told the doctors that she had been in a motor accident and that's how the baby got so hurt inside of her, and they felt so bad for her situation that they never questioned it.

They put her on powerful antidepressants, but all it did was make her numb to the world. She wouldn't speak to or acknowledge me or Prim anymore. And Snow would keep drugging her with sleeping pills and other things; I suspect he even poisoned her too. He felt no remorse for my baby brother dying or my mother losing her mind because of it. I think he actually felt proud of himself. Mom hasn't been the same since; she's actually gotten much worse. I suspect she'll never be normal again. The loving and doting mother I remember from when I was child is basically dead. All I have now is a body that resembles her.

"I have some things for you two," Gale tells me, suddenly excited. He walks over to the truck and pulls out two trash bags from the back. Prim pulls away from me finally, and looks at him with wide curious eyes.

"What's this?" I ask him.

"The thrift shop next to my job threw a bunch of clothes out into the dumpster. I got them out after everything closed. There were about six bags originally, but I kept what my brothers and sister could use. I tried to guess both of your sizes; thought you could use something with school coming up and all. Some might not fit, but I figured you could use the fabric for something useful."

Prim runs over and rips open a bag; she lifts a couple of t-shirts out and smiles widely. Before Gale can react, she attacks him with a hug. "Thank you, Gale! Thank you, thank you…" She repeats. I know this little gesture means the world to her. She was really worried about the clothes situation, and truthfully, so was I. I feel relief knowing that we at least have something semi-new to wear next week. It might not be the latest fashion or even very pretty, but it's different and in decent shape – and that's all that matters.

Gale chuckles slightly and replies with, "That's quite all right, Prim. Just trying to help."

"Prim, why don't you take these clothes inside? I need to talk to Gale alone," I tell her quickly, remembering about the job. I need to get Gale's opinion. And I'm bursting to tell someone the news. She turns to me with a defiant expression, her bottom lip sticking out slightly as if I had just scolded her. I reach down for the brown paper bag and open it, retrieving a cinnamon bun. Her eyes instantly light up as I hand it to her; she doesn't hesitate to grab it from me and bite into it. "Fankoo," she manages with the food in her mouth.

I tell her, "You're welcome." Then, with the remainder of the cinnamon bun tight between her teeth, she hefts the two trash bags up as much as she can and makes her way to the house. As she disappears from view, I turn to Gale with a serious expression.

He can tell there's something weighing on my mind and asks, "What's going on, Kat?"

"I got a job today," I answer. I say it almost as if I'm confused, and honestly I still am a bit. I didn't set out today to find employment, but I'm very thankful for it. I'm a little nervous about the prospect of having to deal with Mrs. Mellark and her other two sons, but compared to Snow… they are minimal annoyances.

"That's great!" Gale says excitedly, and hugs me before I can stop him. I don't hug back. In fact, it just makes me feel awkward. I go stiff in his arms. He finally pulls back and looks at me a little strangely. "Something wrong?"

"Snow doesn't know yet. I'm afraid to tell him."

He lets out a long sigh and scratches his head. "Want me to stick around for when you do?"

He knows that Snow won't do anything to me when he's around. He's a coward like that; he only beats on women and children, not men. The only reason Gale hasn't fought him, and he's threatened to many times, is because he knows that Snow will just take it out on us worse when he leaves. He's just vindictive like that.

"No," I reply, shaking my head slowly in contemplation. "It'll only make him mad and he'll make it worse later. You know that."

He nods and looks defeated. "I wish I could get you guys out of here."

"I know you can't. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. The police would just bring us right back and you'd get in trouble for kidnapping or some stupid trumped up charge…."

"They all just need to go to hell!" He yells in frustration. Gale knows how hopeless this situation is, and I know he'd want nothing more than to help me. But it's nearly impossible. Especially since Snow has the police in his hands.

"We're already in hell."

"You know, we should just do what we talked about before. Just take our brothers and sisters and run off into the woods—"

"And then what? Starve to death? Freeze to death? Get mauled by a wild animal? Get caught and charged for kidnapping minors? It would never work, Gale. They'd find us, or we'd die, and I don't know what alternative would be worse."

He's silent for a few moments. I can tell he's extremely aggravated about how things are, and so am I. This is how it's always been for us. We try to comfort each other with dreams of escape and then get frustrated when we realize how hopeless it is.

"Where are you going to work?" He asks in a calmer voice. He looks straight ahead, his eyes narrowed with stress.

"The Mellarks' bakery," I say. He looks at me suddenly; his eyes wide with surprise. "I know. I'm surprised too. I just went to sell some blackberries and Mr. Mellark offered me the job." I shrug.

"He's a good man," Gale replies thoughtfully. "His sons are assholes, but he's all right. I think it's a good thing to work for him. Just don't let the boys get to you."

I nod, and then find myself saying, "Peeta's not bad."

"The bread?" Gale asks me, looking confused. I can't help but smile slightly as I shake my head.

"No. His youngest son. The one that lost his leg?" I explain, trying to refresh his memory. He scrunches up his face as if trying to remember.

"Don't really remember him, but I recall hearing about that. He's about your age, huh?"

"Yeah. We've had a lot of the same classes. He's really kind of sweet," I tell him, trying to seem casual about everything. I lift the brown bag. "He gave me this sack of bread buns and cinnamon rolls today." I open it up, and hand Gale a cheese bun. He hesitates at first, looking suspicious, but finally takes it from me. He bites into it a little harshly and doesn't say anything.

"Something the matter?" I ask, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable... though I'm not sure why. Gale's change of behavior is a little confusing.

"Do you like him?" He asks, not looking at me. There's a slight edge to his voice, and I'm not sure what to think of it.

"I barely even know him, Gale," I answer defensively. "Anyway, what does it matter to you if I did? I don't; not like that. But still…."

Gale turns to me and shrugs. "It doesn't, really. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Merchant boys have no shortage of girls that chase after them, especially the Mellarks. Or, at least, the older two didn't. I'm just saying, keep your guard up. Don't trust them."

I don't say anything. I just cross my arms and stare at the ground. As if I needed Gale to remind me not to trust. I don't think I'll have a problem with that.

"Anyway, I better go before Snow gets back. I don't want to get you in trouble," Gale says after a few moments and opens the door of his truck. We both look at each other a little sadly.

"You think you could give me a ride into town before Monday? To get Prim some shoes and school supplies? I'll pay for gas."

Gale lets out a long breath. "I work tomorrow and the next day. I might be able to do it Sunday evening. And don't worry about the gas, okay?"

"Thank you," I reply quietly.

With a few more words being exchanged, though nothing very important, he eventually drives away. And I am left standing there, feeling confused about everything and dreading the return of Snow.


	5. Telling Snow

_Chapter Five_

**Telling Snow**

**"_The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."  
― __Abigail Van Buren_**

I wait for Snow to return for what seems like ages. I just want to tell him, take whatever abuse he wants to give, and get it over with. I've already told Prim. She's happy and excited about it, but also as scared as I am about what he might do.

I watch as she goes through the bags of clothes. Surprisingly, there are a lot of nice things to wear. Gale was pretty good about guessing our sizes too, and like he said, whatever doesn't fit I can always use the fabric for something useful. I won't let any of it go to waste. It makes me slightly less nervous to start school on Monday, knowing we won't be going in rags.

Prim and I eat a few more cheese buns before I hide what's left behind a panel in the wall of our bedroom. I give Mom one too; though she doesn't really even acknowledge it. I manage to get her to eat at least one, having to tell her to chew and swallow constantly. She's so skinny from not eating very much that I'm afraid she's going to waste away into nothing. I'm actually surprised she hasn't already.

My hands start to shake when I finally hear his truck outside. This is it. This is the moment of truth; no avoiding it. What happens will happen, and I'll have to deal with the consequences.

He staggers in and slams the door behind him. I stand in the doorway of my room, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt a little. I don't make eye contact with him. In fact, I try to avoid looking at him all together. It's easier that way. Prim tucks herself into a corner of our bedroom; her knees are brought up to her chest, leaving only her wide, nervous eyes visible over them. She's scared of what might happen, and so am I.

I jump as he throws his keys onto the counter with force and turns to me. Before he can start yelling at me about something else, I just tell him what I need to. No use in dragging it out, right? The sooner I tell him, the sooner I can deal with whatever he wants to dish out. It's like pulling the bandage off of a wound.

"I got a job today. Please don't be mad?" I tell him quickly, my voice barely even a whisper. I close my eyes as soon as I say it, ready for him to hit me or worse.

He reacts harshly, as expected. Though, not as angrily as I thought he would. He must still be a little high, because all he does is pull me by my braid and toss me to the ground.

"The roof over your head not good enough, you little bitch? You trying to say I don't give you enough?" He bellows in rage. _Of course you don't_, I want to say. But I don't. Smarting off is never a good choice to make with him. He will make you regret every word that you talk back, and then some. It's best just to lie.

"That's not it! I just want to help out." I scramble up against a wall, but I don't stand up. Best to just stay as close to the ground as possible; he'd just knock me down again anyway.

He kicks something across the room and I hear it break against the far wall. I protectively wrap my arms around my head.

"Who the hell would hire someone as useless as you anyway?" he asks harshly. I feel a little relief as he walks away and sits down on an old metal fold-out chair.

I'm afraid to answer. I don't want him to insult Mr. Mellark, or worse. I never know what to quite expect from him, so I stay silent. He tosses a glass jar at me and yells again, "I asked who hired you! You gonna answer, or do I need to beat it outta you?" The jar hits the wall beside me, missing me by a mere few inches. It bursts into tiny shards.

I close my eyes tightly, feeling my body shake from nerves and terror. I feel like crying, but I don't. It'll only make things worse if I show weakness. I answer, knowing that he'll find out anyway, "The Mellarks."

He laughs cynically and stands up again. He comes over to me and lifts me up by my braid. "Those fucking goody-goodies?" I wince in pain as he twists my hair in his hand and brings his face closer to mine. "You say anything_, anything_, about what goes on here… you know I know these woods. I know deep wells and forgotten lakes. No one will ever find a body if it goes missing. You hear me?" He tightens his grip on my braid, and I can feel my scalp start to go numb from the pain. I nod, but I don't say anything. There's no need to.

I'm aware that he knows these woods like the back of his hand and that he _does_ know where old forgotten wells and lakes are. He's shown me. He's threatened me so many times over the years like this, and it's mostly why I haven't said anything to anyone. I don't doubt that he'd go to that extreme if he was forced to. Sometimes I wonder why he hasn't gotten rid of us already; probably because he has too much fun watching us cower in fear.

He spits in my face and punches the wall behind me. Then, surprisingly, he lets me go. My head throbs and aches at his release and I feel dizzy. I try to focus my eyes, but everything looks blurry for a few moments. I quickly wipe at my face as he walks away.

"Get outta here! I don't want to see your face. Remember what I told you; you know I don't fuck around!"

I nod quickly, doing as he says without argument.

I go into our room and close the door behind me. It's dark, but I like it that way. I feel safe in the darkness; it makes me feel invisible. I quickly go over to Prim, who's crying in the corner. I wrap my arms around her tightly and bring her to me, running my hands through her hair.

"Shhh… everything's all right, Prim," I reassure her. "Stop crying. I told him, it's over. I'm okay."

I actually feel very relieved. It went better than I had thought it would.

I told him and, now that it's over with, I can go back to avoiding him again.

* * *

Over the weekend, I keep my distance from Snow. I stay outside as much as possible and keep myself busy. He doesn't say anything else about the job, and I don't bring it up again. In all honesty, he's probably happy because he's planning on spending my money. And I'll have to give him some, I'm sure. I won't have a choice. I'm, of course, going to be hiding some away from him. I have a plan to save my money to get out of here eventually. That's the whole point of this.

I manage to get through the weekend with only a few slaps to the face, but not enough to leave marks on my skin. I am happy about that; I don't want to start work and school with bruises already. I have them on my legs and arms; places where people can't see. But he avoids my face. He knows it's harder to explain it away, after all.

Prim and I go down to the lake early Sunday and bathe ourselves in it for school. Gale had put a few bars of soap in the trash bags of clothes he brought, and we definitely needed them. I know he wouldn't tell me straight out that he included them; he has more tact than that. But he knows how we live. And as much as it is embarrassing, I am thankful for the gesture. I don't say anything to him about it though, because it would just make things uncomfortable. Besides, he knows how I feel without me having to tell him.

When Gale comes by Sunday evening to take me into town, I lie to Snow and tell him I have to help with his mom. He buys it without question. Luckily, Snow isn't very observant and doesn't even notice when Prim has new shoes that night. If he does notice, he doesn't say anything. Or maybe he assumed Gale gave them to her. I don't know. But I am happy he doesn't ask any questions about it. I never let him know about the $50 I had, because he'd take it from me without any hesitation. Over the years, I've become pretty good at keeping secrets from him; I always have an excuse at the ready if he questions me.

But I always hope he doesn't.

* * *

Before I know it, it's Monday morning; the day I start school and a new job.

To say I'm nervous is an understatement. I feel like I'm going to shake out of my skin. I try to keep myself calm, but it does no good. I'm happy, excited, scared… all sorts of emotions that I can't control. Prim and I ride the bus into town. She gets dropped off at the elementary school, which is a block down from the high school, before me. I tell her that I will come get her before we walk to the bakery that evening.

When I finally get to school, I walk into my first hour class and find a seat at the very back of the room by myself. I avoid everyone's eyes and whispers, trying to block everything around me out. I just want to get through the day being as invisible as possible. I don't expect to make friends or talk to anyone; I'm only here to learn. People don't really matter to me. They never have anything nice to say, so I don't even bother. They don't know me, I remind myself, and they don't know what I've been through. I don't need them or their approval

And then I see Peeta walk into the classroom.

I try my best to look straight-ahead; to appear not to notice him. It's the best thing for all involved. I won't receive the unnecessary attention and the rude remarks that come with it, and he won't have to risk people treating him badly for talking to me. It's just not worth it. At least with the bakery, he can tell people it was his dad's idea and not his. Here, there's really no excuse.

I look down at the desk, studying the design of the fake wood beneath my fingertips. I run my index finger along the outline casually, all the while feeling my heart beat out of my chest and my face heating up in spite of me.

All I can think in my head is: _Please don't notice me, please don't notice me…_

"Good morning."

He's standing beside the two-seat table I'm at, gazing down at me. I can see him from the corner of my eye, but I still won't look at him.

"Morning," I mumble back, hoping that he's only making a passing greeting and will walk away soon.

My eyes go wide as I hear him pull out a chair and get ready to sit next to me. What is he doing? Is he trying to make things hell for us? I know he's nice, but this is uncalled for. He doesn't need to feel sorry for me. He doesn't need to prove anything by doing this. I've gone this long without making friends, and I'll be just fine continuing this way.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, barely moving my mouth. I don't want to draw attention to us. "You can't sit here."

I take a quick glance at him. He looks confused and hesitates. "Why? Are you saving this seat for someone?"

I look away. I notice there are two girls a couple tables away already whispering and glancing at us. I hear them giggle; the sound of it just makes me want to punch something. I can't stand snobs. I sigh and shake my head in frustration.

"No. I just… people are going to talk." I narrow my eyes at the girls who aren't keeping it much of a secret that they are talking about us. "In fact, they already are."

This doesn't deter him any. He sits down beside me without any hesitation. I let out a long breath and avoid looking in his direction. He says, "Let them talk. Who cares?"

I turn to him, my face red with nervousness and worry. "Everyone cares. You don't need to do this."

"I know I don't _need_ to," Peeta replies without even trying to whisper. "I _want _to. I don't care what other people say. Why would I want to be friends with people like that anyway?"

"I don't know," I say, feeling slightly aggravated and confused. I then ask rhetorically, "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

He smiles slightly and looks down at the desk. "Why wouldn't I?"

This takes me by surprise. I don't know what to say, so I bite my lip and look away. I finally answer with a shrug, "Because no one ever wants to."

"Well, I do."

"But… why?" I ask suspiciously. I'm genuinely curious. Why does Peeta, a good-looking boy who could be friends with anyone, want to waste his time being nice to me? Is this some sort of joke? I don't find it funny at all. What's the catch?

"Because you're different," he answers quietly. I see his face turn slightly pink, or maybe I'm imagining things. "I find you… interesting. Besides, we'll be working together almost every day. So I figure we might as well be friends, right?"

"Just because I'm working for your dad doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to be nice to me. I don't need your pity," I say, trying to keep my face blank. I stare down at the desk again, but I can feel his eyes on me. It makes me feel awkward; my heart is pounding hard against my chest. I feel like everyone is watching and talking about us now. I don't like it. It'd just be so much easier if we weren't friends.

"I'm not going out of my way, Katniss. And you're too strong to pity. I wouldn't have thought you'd care what people think—"

"I don't. Not about what they say about me," I answer him honestly, feeling my hands shake uncontrollably. I feel mortified even having to tell him, though it's obvious, "I care about you being laughed at because of me."

"Well I don't care about that, so you shouldn't either," he tells me and shrugs his shoulders. I glance at him, narrowing my eyes in suspicion; trying to figure him out. He just looks back at me with a serious, yet heartfelt expression. His eyes are kind and I can tell he means what he says. I am not sure what to think of it, though. He sighs heavily and leans in closer to me. He assures in a low voice, "I'm a big boy and I know exactly what I'm doing." He raises his eyebrows in mock challenge. "You're not too good to be my friend, are you?"

I shake my head. He knows better than that. "I'm not too good for anyone."

"You're too good for a lot of people, actually," he replies thoughtfully.

I want to ask him what he meant by what he had just said but, at that moment, the teacher walks in.

And I am too busy wondering about the intentions of the boy with the bread beside me, that I don't hear a word of anything at all for the rest of the class. I just keep taking fleeting glances at him, wondering why he is the way he is. And why he chose me, of all people, to sit by and talk to.


	6. An Unexpected Ally

_Chapter Six_

**An Unexpected Ally  
**

**"_We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit."_**

**_-ee__ cummings_**

After class is over and everyone starts to leave, I notice a few girls whisper to each other, and giggle conspiratorially, as they look back at Peeta and me. I want to ask what they find so amusing, or what they are saying, but I don't. Instead, I look over at Peeta and frown slightly. He's putting his binder into his backpack without a word. His silence bothers me; I feel annoyed that he's brought this attention on me and he hasn't even bothered to explain why yet. He'd never said one word to me in all the years we've been in school, or even acknowledged me really, so what's so different now? I honestly just think he feels sorry for me, and I don't like it. Not one bit. In fact, it needs to end now.

"What game are you trying to play?" I ask bitterly. I glance at him with narrowed eyes, feeling suspicious, and also very curious, of his intentions. People have never been kind to me without there being some sort of ulterior motive… so what's his? How am I going to wind up being hurt in all of this? Is he joking or being real? And if he's being real… why? What's the reason?

He looks over at me in confusion, as if my question has taken him by surprise. "Huh? I'm not playing any game."

"Don't play dumb," I snap. My hands are shaking and my heart feels like it might explode from beating so fast. I don't like confrontation, but I need to know. I'm not going to allow myself to feel happy or excited about this. I won't be weak and believe that he actually wants to be my friend. I know he's only doing this because he feels obligated. "Why are you pretending to be nice to me? You can drop the act."

"I'm not pretending, Katniss." He sounds sincere, and looks so taken aback when he says it, that I almost feel guilty for accusing him otherwise. "You know, not everyone is out to hurt you. Anyway, do I have to have a reason to be nice to you and want to be your friend?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. _Yes,_ I want to say, _you do have to have a reason. Otherwise, why risk your reputation?_ Instead I just tell him, "Yeah right. Look, I might be poor, but I'm not stupid." I feel my face heat up and I look away from him.

"I know you're not stupid," Peeta answers calmly. He stands up and places his backpack over his shoulder. I look at him and bite my lip, not really knowing what to say. He smiles slightly, but I keep my face rigid and questioning. "Katniss, have I _ever_ done anything wrong to you? In all these years?"

I let out a long breath and tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear out of nervousness.

"No," I tell him grudgingly. "Not _yet _anyway." There's a first time for everything though and I'm not about to let my guard down.

"And I never will," he replies softly. I want to believe him, but I have every reason not to. He starts to walk towards the door, but I find I can't just let him walk away after saying that. It doesn't make sense. I feel defensive, even though I know I shouldn't. He's just being nice… and maybe that's the problem. _Why?_

"But… you've never _had_ a chance to be mean to me. You never talked to me or even noticed me before," I blurt out suddenly, ignoring his sweet words. I know I should just shut my mouth and attempt to accept his kindness. I can't help myself though. I feel so confused and I want some sort of answer; some sort of excuse for his behavior. I need for this to make sense somehow. "So what gives now? What's your reason for all of this? Is it just because of the job? If so, there's no need for it."

Peeta turns back to me and sighs heavily. His eyes gaze around the room, but he doesn't look at me. He seems awkward all of a sudden and it makes me feel a little ashamed at how I'm talking to him. His dad gave me the job that's going to feed me and Prim. I should be groveling at his feet, not being suspicious of his motives. I should be happy that he's trying to be civil to me. He has every reason not to be.

"Having no reason is as good of a reason as any, isn't it?" He asks cryptically. I shake my head. I'm feeling a bit frustrated and flustered as I have no idea what he means at all.

"I'm not following…?"

"Katniss…" He finally looks at me, and I feel my heart beat a little faster when he says my name. I notice that his face is reddening just slightly and I know I'm not imagining it this time. I'm obviously making him feel uncomfortable and embarrassed by all of this. I wish I could trust people, but I just… _can't._ Not even someone as kind and generous as Peeta. He continues quietly, "It's not about the job at all, okay? And I've noticed you before… more than you think. I just never knew what to say. But I'm saying something now… and it's better late than never, right?"

I arch an eyebrow at him. The more he talks and the more he explains, the more I feel utterly confused and the more questions I have. He looks at me as if he expects me to say something in return, and I finally just tell him, "I don't understand you at all. Not one bit."

And it's true. He just seems so different from every other guy – any other person in general – and I can't figure him out, as much as I want to. He noticed me before, the words keep playing in my head. What does he mean by that? He wanted to talk to me before… about what? And what does he have to say now? I don't know.

"There's really not much to understand," he says with a small half-smile. He looks anxiously behind him at the door. _Probably to see if anyone is watching us_, I think a little bitterly. "Anyway, we're going to be late for second hour. We'll talk about all of this later?"

I shrug and look at him questioningly. I still have no idea why this is happening. "We will?"

"Yes." He nods and raises his eyebrows. "I hope?" I just shrug again. Really, what am I supposed to say?

And then I sit there, not moving a muscle, as I watch him leave the classroom. He turns back and gives a small wave, a brilliant smile gracing his face. And I just raise my hand in return, unblinking and unmoving, as he disappears from view.

* * *

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I keep thinking about this morning and Peeta. I've been trying to make it all clear in my head, but it's still fuzzy. I don't have a clue why he'd want to be seen with me, let alone be my friend. Or why he'd feel the need to talk to me all of a sudden. I'm confused and paranoid about everything. After all, Peeta is handsome and he's not exactly unpopular. He could sit by any other girl and they'd be happy about it. And this is exactly why I feel that all of this isn't in the least bit normal. I know I am nothing special, not compared to the other girls who have the latest fashions and wear make-up, and I am not foolish enough to believe that he thinks I am. I know the only reason he'd have for "noticing" me before is simply because I'm poor. That tends to stick out to people, unfortunately.

I don't see Peeta at lunch, but this is mostly due to me purposely avoiding him. I never eat at school. I can't afford it and in order to get free lunches, you have to be signed up for food assistance from the state. Snow hasn't done this, obviously. So I go to the library and find a nice, quiet place in the back to read by myself. I've always done this; it's nice to get away from people for at least a little while during the day. It feels wonderful to escape into a world inside a book, where I can be anything and I can feel something different. At least with a novel I can always have a happy ending. Real life is the exact opposite, however, and I will never delude myself into believing otherwise.

As I walk into the next class after lunch, I see Peeta again. He's already sitting down at a desk. We make eye-contact and he smiles at me. I bite my lip and look away quickly, feeling my body start to shake with nerves again. I don't want to have a conversation with him like this morning, not in front of everyone else. I don't have to either, because luckily we have assigned seats. I'm thankful for this, but also a tad disappointed. And I don't really know why, really. Maybe I find it a little intriguing how he wants to get to know me and talk to me. No one ever has, and as much as it confuses me, it's… _different_. And I am not sure yet if that is a good or a bad thing.

He's sitting in front of me, slightly off to the side. I find my eyes drifting over to him throughout class. I feel my stomach tie itself in knots when I see him talking animatedly to the person next to him, Delly Cartwright. She's blond and a little on the chubby side, but not bad looking in the least. She's always been sweet to me, even if she's never really said much to me. She's never been mean. And I bet Peeta likes her. He seems to really enjoy talking to her anyway. I look down at the desk and try to avoid looking in their direction. I feel as if I am spying on them or doing something I shouldn't.

Anyway, it really shouldn't matter to me that he's talking to another girl. Peeta has always been nice, and I'm silly to think that his friendliness is only reserved for me. I'm the one who has trouble talking to people and trusting them; not him. He obviously has no problem with it, and why should he? He probably talks sweetly to all of the girls that sit by him; probably doesn't think twice about it either. Only I had to make a fool of myself and make it into a big deal, when it more than likely wasn't out of the ordinary at all to him. I feel like a huge idiot, and he probably thinks I am too.

I glance up again and find myself gazing in their direction. I quickly avert my eyes though and feel my face heat up. They were both looking back at me. I bet they are saying bad things, or discussing how weird I was this morning. Or they noticed me staring at them before. I feel embarrassed. I just want to crawl into a hole somewhere and disappear completely. And I'm not just being paranoid; there's no doubt at all that their eyes were definitely on me, and they were quite obviously talking about me. About what, I don't know. I'm not sure I even want to.

I stare down at the desk for the remainder of class, and I don't look up again until I know they've left.

* * *

I don't see Peeta again until the last class of the day. I arrive a little late, as I had gotten lost trying to locate the classroom. I find an open seat at the very back, and I'm thankful that it's not anywhere near him. I avoid looking in his direction; I still feel embarrassed about earlier. And now I am even more nervous about having to work with him this evening. Maybe this whole job thing was a mistake; I'm just not sure that I can do this. Not if things are going to change like this and I'm going to constantly feel this way. I'm used to being left alone and being by myself. I don't like attention and I don't like confusion. I just want to be as invisible as I can possibly be. Is that too much to ask for?

We don't actually talk again until after class is over.

I start to walk quickly out of the classroom, trying my best to avoid him, but it's kind of impossible when I hear him say my name a bit loudly. I turn around and narrow my eyes at him. I feel self-conscious and irritable, especially since there are still people in the room. Why does he keep talking to me around people? Doesn't he realize that I am trying to protect him from being ridiculed?

"What?"

"I'm still giving you a ride, right?" He smiles, but he seems a bit nervous. Or maybe I am reading him all wrong and he's simply just embarrassed to talk to me. That would make more sense.

I shrug, and then hear some blond haired guy, from the back of the classroom, say with a laugh, "You gonna ride him, Never-clean?"

I knew the inappropriate comments were coming, and this is what I was trying to avoid. I shake my head in disgust, feeling my face heat up even more from being mortified. I turn for the door, but then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I stop and turn around.

"Ignore the idiot, Katniss," Peeta tells me quickly. "You're better than that." There's an edge of annoyance in his voice, and I am not sure if it's because of what the guy had said or what he had implied. I remain silent and avoid Peeta's eyes. I purposefully glare at the blond haired boy who just insulted me.

He smiles at Peeta incredulously and shakes his head. "Leg making you desperate, Mellark? I mean, she has a nice body and all, but still... really? _Never-clean_?" He shakes his head again and laughs as if he'd just heard the funniest joke ever. I feel horrible. I know Peeta didn't ask for this, but he brought it on by talking to me. I knew this would happen, and I hate that it has already. And I hate that Peeta has to witness me being made fun of. I almost expect him to switch sides and start talking me down too. I've seen plenty of others do it.

"Katniss _Everdeen_," he says my last name pointedly, and goes on a little heatedly, "Is a great friend of mine. Don't speak to her like she's trash, because I'm pretty sure you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as her. And speaking of desperation, Cato, when was the last time _you _had a girlfriend? And Clove doesn't count, by the way. Because I'm pretty sure she's been _everyone's_ girlfriend…."

My eyes go wide during this exchange, but I don't say anything. I'm shocked and surprised that Peeta stood up for me. No one's ever done that before. Maybe I _can_ trust him. I still don't know if we should be seen together though. This was only one little remark and I am sure there will be a ton more of them. I'm just not sure it's worth all of the stress and embarrassment.

Cato just walks past us and mutters, "Watch your mouth, legless, and try not to catch a disease." I feel relieved, but wholly mortified, when he finally leaves the room.

"You okay?" Peeta asks me in a worried tone. I finally look at him, but I don't smile or say anything. I just keep my face passive. I'm still not sure about all of this; I'm really not sure if it's worth it – for him or me. Finally I just nod, knowing that I need this job… and I will have to suck these feelings up and just deal with it all; like I always do. After all, I'm not doing this for me; I don't really matter. I'm doing this for Prim. "Good. Cato was just being a jerk, and you don't deserve to be talked to like that." He frowns and then changes the subject, his voice becoming more lighthearted, "Ready to get your sister and head to the bakery?"

I nod again, but remain silent.

* * *

I don't say anything the whole car ride to the elementary school. Peeta tries to make small-talk, but I just nod, shake my head, or shrug in return. I'm sure it's coming off as rude, but I don't know what else to do or what to say. I'm still not sure if we should be friends or that I should allow him to go out of his way to be nice to me. Like now; with the ride and Prim, or earlier when he took up for me. He doesn't have to do any of this at all. Most wouldn't. And I don't come close to understanding any of it.

I find Prim in the crowd and we make our way back to Peeta's car. Her eyes go wide in excitement as she realizes we have a ride to the bakery, and also because she sees Peeta for the first time. She yanks my hand and stops suddenly as we approach. I look at her in confusion. She gestures for me to lean down so she can whisper in my ear. In a small, surprised voice she asks, "He's the one who gave us the bread?" I look at her and nod slowly. She then places her hand to my ear again and says shyly, "But he's _so_ handsome, Katniss. You never told me that!"

I lean my head back again in surprise and smile down at her in amusement. Her eyes are still wide and her cheeks are a very deep red. She won't look in the direction of the car. I think my little sister might just have a tiny crush on Peeta. I guess I can see why she would. "He's perfectly nice, Prim. Don't worry."

"But… we… we _have_ to ride with him?" She says a little timidly and echoes her earlier statement, "He's so handsome though."

I let out a small laugh at how she's acting. I've never seen her like this over a boy, and it's funny to me that it's over Peeta of all people. "Yes, we do. You'll be okay, I promise." She bites her lip nervously, and squeezes my hand as we finally reach the car.

"Want to sit in the front or the back?" I ask her with a small wink.

She averts her eyes and mumbles, "The back…"

I grin widely, and shake my head, as I shut the door behind her. I then open the front door and sit down, my mind still on Prim and how adorable it is that she is so flustered with Peeta. I just can't get my smile to go away; even biting my lip won't work. It's just nice and refreshing to see Prim doing something so... _normal_, and unbelievably girly.

He looks over at me and raises an eyebrow, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. And I know I'm being a tad mischievous, but I can't help but throw in a meaningful, "Right, Prim?"

"Shut up, Katniss!" She snaps quickly and folds her arms in a huff. I should stop. I know she's shy as it is, and I shouldn't make it worse for her. I _am_ her big sister though, and it's not often that we share little moments like these. I'm usually trying to protect or nurture her; not pick on her about liking a much older boy. She knows that I mean well, though.

"Hello, Prim. Nice to meet you?" Peeta says, looking amused and slightly confused at our exchange. I still can't stop smiling. I put my hand over my mouth, turn my face away, and look out of the window.

"Mmmhmm," Prim replies a little dreamily. A small snort escapes me. She kicks the back of my seat lightly and I roll my eyes.

Oh, this should be very interesting.


	7. Bakery Smiles

_Chapter Seven_**  
**

**Bakery Smiles  
**

**"_You haven't lost your smile at all, it's right under your nose. You just forgot it was there.__"_**

**_-Unknown_**

The bakery is only three blocks away from the elementary school, so we arrive there in no time at all. As we all get out of the car and head inside, Prim grabs my hand and practically glues herself to me. She's avoiding looking at Peeta or even being seen by him. I can't help but shake my head and grin about it all. She's acting so silly. Peeta wouldn't hurt her or make her feel bad about the way she feels. I guess I should probably remind myself of that too.

Despite the worries I have about other people seeing us together, I guess I'm also a bit afraid of accepting his friendship only to have him turn on me. If that were to happen, especially with someone as seemingly kind and sweet as Peeta, I would lose whatever desperate strand I have left of my hope for humanity. It would kill me inside. I wouldn't be able to trust anyone again, and that's why I'm afraid to even trust now. And the other reason I am afraid of accepting his friendship is… well, I don't know _how_ to be friends with someone like him. We're obviously from different social circles, completely different worlds, and I don't understand how we'd have anything in common or anything at all to talk about. I don't have the slightest idea why he'd even be interested in me or want to know anything about me, and I am in no hurry to wear my heart on my sleeve for someone to rip it away.

When we enter the bakery, I am automatically hit with the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bread, pastries, and cakes. I can almost taste the air; I breathe in deeply, filling my nostrils and lungs with the delicious aroma. I glance down at Prim, who is still holding on tightly to my hand, and she looks as overwhelmed as I am by the scent. And then, as out of place as I feel here, I remember that this is where I work now; I work in a heaven of sugar and spice, of bread and pies.

The bakery itself is very nice; quaint and sort of old fashioned, yet it's kept up very well. The front room is filled to the brim with shelves and tables of breads, cupcakes, doughnuts, muffins, pies, and any other thing a baker's dream would include. There are glass cases and shelves along the walls, and in the window sills, of elegantly decorated multi-tiered cakes, in every color and size. I feel so intimidated by it all; there's no way I will be able to do all of this. I'm not a baker… I've never really baked anything in my life, not anything fancy like this, anyway. I don't know what to think. I am thankful to work here, and even more honored that I was offered the job without even asking for it, but I have no idea what I'm doing here and it makes me nervous. Surely there are much more qualified and experienced people that could be hired for this….

"Miss Katniss, pleased to see you here today!" I hear Mr. Mellark's cheerful voice come from beside me. He's walking out of a separate dining room, which I notice is full of tables and booths. It even has two couches, a coffee table, and a lounging chair. There's a shelf along the wall full of books and magazines. I hear music playing, but I can't think to listen to it or bother to decipher what it is or who it's by.

Mr. Mellark's eyes land on Prim, who squeezes my hand tighter and clings a little closer to me. "And you must be little Primrose? Pleased to meet you darling. Feel free to make this place your home away from home." He says the last part to both of us with a huge, boyish grin on his face. There's something so warm and gentle about him that puts me at ease, and I instantly know I have nothing to worry about here. I'm sure I will make mistakes starting out, but Mr. Mellark wouldn't have offered the job to a completely inexperienced person if he didn't expect that. Or, at least, I hope that's the case.

"Thank you, I'm so glad to be here," I tell him. My voice comes out as if I'm almost in awe, which I kind of am. I haven't really been in this bakery for years, and I guess I had forgotten how wonderful it was. I continue with a truthful, "This place is amazing."

"Well, we're certainly glad to have you work with us! Consider yourself part of the family here. I guess I should go get your uniforms to get you started," he replies enthusiastically. "I'll be back in a moment. Peeta, you should show these lovely ladies around the place." I watch curiously as Mr. Mellark goes over to the counter where the cash register is located. Behind it, there is a door that leads to the back. I'm guessing that's where they do all the baking.

"Everything's pretty straight forward, really," I hear Peeta's voice from beside me. I had almost forgotten he was there, being so distracted by my surroundings and Mr. Mellark. "As you can see, we're in the store-front here. This is where we keep all of the baked goods on display. We also get a lot of commissions for special occasions, so there are booklets behind the counter if a customer asks. We'll talk more about that later, most of it you'll just learn as we go along. It's really not that hard, so don't feel overwhelmed." I nod, but I don't say anything. Peeta smiles at me and shrugs. He then waves his hand for me to follow him.

He shows me the dining room next, and by that time Mr. Mellark finds us again. His arms are full of folded clothes of bright turquoise and tan. "There are five sets of uniforms here. You're welcome to take them home or you can leave them here. We have a washer and dryer here if you happen to need them, by the way. Feel free." He hands them to me, and it feels strange to have brand new clothes bought specifically just for myself. I know they are just regular t-shirts and khaki slacks, and uniforms at that, but they are mine. Only mine. And no one has worn them before. I can't even remember the last time I'd even had new clothes.

I feel so overwhelmed and thankful, all I can do is mumble a short, "Thanks…."

"Now, I guessed on your size. I hope I did all right. You should go put them on real quick to get started. If they don't fit, I'll go exchange them for you," Mr. Mellark tells me. "The public restroom is down the hall or you can use the family one upstairs."

Upstairs? I had no idea there was an upstairs. Anyway, I nod and tell Prim, "I'll be right back, okay? You'll be fine for a moment, right?" She looks at me timidly, but says yes. I then let go of her hand and make my way down the hall to the ladies room, which only has one stall. Once inside, I lock the door behind me. I glance in the full length mirror in front of me and notice that my face is completely red. I sigh and look away as I start to undress and change into my new clothes.

I'm not so sure about this. I'm not sure at all. The shirt is a plain t-shirt, but it's small. I'm used to wearing baggy clothes… Snow doesn't allow me to wear form fitting ones. I try to stretch the shirt a bit, but it doesn't really make a difference. It still clings to my chest and stomach, accentuating my curves in the most embarrassing way. Most girls would be happy about this, but I'm not. It makes me feel self-conscious and showy, and I don't like it. But what am I supposed to tell Mr. Mellark? I can't wear your shirts because they fit me too well?

I then put on the pants, and they are about the same way. They aren't tight, but they aren't loose either. They fit perfectly. And I don't care for it one bit. The pants and shirt together make me feel like someone else entirely. I feel like one of the girls from school; one that is comfortable with her body and likes to show it off. I really don't know how I feel about mine, and as plain as the uniform is, it also shows off every little contour. I don't look bad or anything, I have to admit, but I don't want people seeing me like this. _I'll be wearing an apron over it all though_, I remind myself, and this makes me feel slightly better, and a little less awkward about things.

I walk out of the restroom, and into the storefront, feeling a little uncomfortable in my own skin.

"They fit perfectly! Fantastic," Mr. Mellark beams happily. "You look real nice, Miss Katniss." He has something white in his hands as he comes over to me. I feel my body freeze up as he places the fabric over my head and lets it drape from my shoulders. I look down at the apron I'm wearing, and notice that it has my name embroidered on the front in cursive lettering, along with the brand of "Mellarks' Bakery" and a decorative cupcake beneath it. "Now it's official. Welcome aboard!"

I tie the two strings of the apron behind my back and smile. I can't help it. I haven't felt this happy in a long time, or this accepted. It feels good here and I never want to leave. I repeat again, "Thanks."

I notice Prim and Peeta off in the dining room. I can only imagine what's going on in her head at this moment. He's talking excitedly to her about something, and her little face is as red as a tomato. It feels like my face is making up for years of frowns today, because I can't stop smiling. No matter how much I want to. It feels odd, but also very nice. I know it won't last long, as I will have to go home sometime, but it's good for now.

"Well, you should go to Peeta now. He'll teach you everything you need to know around here. He really has the knack for all of this, takes after his pa," Mr. Mellark tells me proudly, with a wink of an eye. He gently places a hand on my shoulder and leans down closer to me, as he catches my line of sight of Peeta and Prim talking. "He'll treat you right, that one. You have my word on that." He then looks at me as if to make a point. All I can do is nod. I never once doubted that Peeta knew his job well, I wouldn't expect Mr. Mellark to leave him to do a shift on his own otherwise.

Mr. Mellark tells Peeta that he is leaving and to train me well, and then leaves us on our own. I feel nervous all of a sudden. I'm not sure what to do, say, or what to expect now. Prim stays in the dining area, in a booth, as she reads a book. Peeta comes back into the store-front and gestures for me to follow him to the back.

There are multiple ovens, racks of flour and spices, trays and pans, a few counter-tops and tables. There are already some cakes, breads, and other things already sitting out waiting to be decorated or to be put on display. I watch as Peeta wordlessly picks up a small individual-sized cake that has already been decorated with white icing and pink flowers. He starts to write something on it with a huge knowing smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" I ask him curiously, coming over to his side. I notice the first letter is a cursive "P"… and I think I know what's going on here.

"Giving your little sister a cake as sweet as she is," Peeta tells me with a small laugh. His cheeks are a tinged red, and I'm pretty sure he's caught on about Prim's little crush on him.

"You know, then?" I ask in amusement. I try to hold back a laugh, but a small snort escapes me. Peeta looks at me with a bashful smile and shrugs his shoulders as he nods.

"I have to admit it… I'm a little flattered," he says as he finishes writing her name on the cake.

"I'm sorry, Peeta, but she's a little too young to be dating just yet. I hope you understand," I joke.

He shakes his head and grins widely. He then looks at me with his blue eyes twinkling, "Well, that's rotten luck. I thought I snagged myself an Everdeen for a moment there."

I roll my eyes and look down at the cake, knowing he's just making a comment in jest, and doesn't really mean anything more than that.

"You are going to break her little heart," I tell him with a dramatic, yet lighthearted sigh. "Giving her a cake and talking all sweetly to her. She's going to fall madly in love with you, and it's all I'll probably be hearing about for the next few weeks."

"I'm sorry, I just can't bring myself to dash her dreams," Peeta replies with a shrug, and then moves across the room to retrieve a plate, "I kind of know how she feels." I find myself curious about what he means, but I don't ask because it's really none of my business. "Besides, maybe she can convince you that I'm not as bad as you think."

I look at him in confusion, and then I realize what he meant. I then feel a little guilty. I was totally rude to Peeta today, I pretty much accused him of pretending to be nice to me. He doesn't have to pretend though, it's just his personality. He's just friendly and kind, and I'm a distrustful idiot who always expects the worst of people.

"I don't think _you're_ bad," I mumble quietly, trying to explain my behavior but not really knowing how. "I've just had bad experiences… with _people_…"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Katniss. I understand." He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. I feel my own face heat up as I look over at him. I don't know what to say, but the look on his face tells me that I don't really have to say anything at all.

I feel his hand leave my shoulder, and I start to breathe again.

I then change the subject. For the first time in a long time I feel happy, and I don't want to ruin it by dwelling on the negative. "So did Prim tell you about her crush or did you figure it out on your own?" I ask curiously, a smile curving my lips again.

"She didn't really have to say anything. Sometimes actions speak louder than words," Peeta answers quietly. He suddenly glances at me, and I see his face change slightly. He looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn't know how to. It makes me nervous. He was talking to Prim earlier, and hard telling what she had said to him. She could have said anything at all. I feel my stomach tie itself in knots, hoping she didn't tell him anything about home or how we live. Or Snow. Is that why he's looking at me funny?

"What?" I ask quickly, and somewhat defensively, "If you have something to say, then say it." He sighs heavily and looks like he's still trying to figure out if he should tell me what he's thinking. I just knew something bad was going to come eventually. I hold my breath as he starts to talk again.

"I hope you don't think it's weird of me to say this," Peeta starts, and then looks away shyly. He seems to hesitate at first, debating in his head whether he should complete his sentence or not. I bite my lip, feeling a little worried about what he might say. He finally lets out a long breath and continues, "But I think… I think your smile is… well… it's beautiful. It really suits you. And I wish you'd do it more often."

I'm not sure what to think of what he had just said to me. Did I hear him right? Did he just call me beautiful? Why would he say something like that? Then it dawns on me that it's probably to keep me smiling for customers – it _is_ better for business. It's his subtle way of encouraging good business etiquette. There wasn't anything more to his statement than that, and I'm not going to read more into it. Still, my stomach feels like it's filled with a million little butterflies flapping their wings simultaneously. It's a strange sensation; I've never really felt it before. I look away from him, but a small smile still remains on my lips. I tell him in a quiet, unsure voice, "I wish I had more things to smile about."

After all, despite it being a subtle way of keeping me smiling for business… it was still a nice compliment, and I should still thank him. Even if I don't really believe that he thinks that I'm beautiful. He didn't say it to insult me, this much I know for sure, so I'll play along. I feel bad enough for treating him so rudely earlier today, and I probably shouldn't push my luck and make things uncomfortable by calling him a liar.

"Well, maybe we can change that." There's a slight shift of tone to his voice. I can't really place it. It seems wistful, yet hopeful… maybe even a bit pitying. I don't know. Peeta is a hard one to read. I glance at him quickly, and I see that he's studying my face as if he's trying to figure something out about me. I can almost see the cogs turning in his head. It makes me feel self-conscious. Anyway, what did he mean by "we"? _Probably just means his dad and himself and the bakery_, I tell myself. It's nothing more than that.

A slow smile comes to his face again as I cast my eyes to the side. I shrug my shoulders and reply with a simple, "Maybe." Although, I know it's a lie. Unless Snow is gone, I will never have much to smile about. Not genuinely, anyway. I will smile here because it's expected of me for the job, but other than that… I don't have many real things to be happy about. Right now, the only things that make me feel good are Prim and this bakery. And maybe the Mellarks for their generosity and kindness. Well, two of the Mellarks anyway. I'm not really looking forward to seeing Mrs. Mellark or either of Peeta's brothers.

But, for right now, I _can_ be happy. I can smile for the moment, even if I know the frowns will come again once I have to leave here.


	8. Learning To Knead

_Chapter Eight  
_

**Learning To Knead  
**

**_"Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses."_**

**_-Ann Landers_**

Without another word said between us, I follow Peeta as he brings the cake out to Prim. I can only imagine how she'll react when she realizes it's for her. It's not often that we even _see_ sweets, let alone have them decorated in our honor.

As we approach the booth that she's sitting in, Peeta turns to me and smiles a bit shyly, and it's so genuine and sweet, that I can't help but smile back. I'm finding that smiling is sort of contagious when it comes to him. I then feel my breath catch in my chest as he leans down and says quietly near my ear, "That's what I like to see." He winks quickly, and then turns back around, making his way over to Prim again.

I stand there for a few seconds trying to process what just happened, why my heart is beating so fast, and why every bit of my skin has broken out into shivers and goose-bumps. He probably didn't mean anything more by it, and I'm just being silly by overanalyzing. He only likes to see me smile for business reasons, and that's all. Or simply as a friend, at most, and even that is pushing things to an extreme. I roll my eyes at my temporary weakness and delusion, then sigh heavily as I catch up to him.

He places the cake down onto the table in front of Prim. She glances from her book and then to the cake, and I suppress a laugh as her eyes go wide with surprise and shock. Her mouth opens, but she doesn't say anything. She glances at Peeta quickly, then back at the cake, then to me. She questions me with her eyes, and so I answer her, "Peeta made it just for you, Prim."

"Sure did!" Peeta agrees enthusiastically. He sits down in the booth across from her and places a fork down on the table beside the cake. I stay standing right where I am, feeling a little out of place.

"Why?" She asks in a voice that's barely even a whisper. She seems embarrassed, maybe even a little annoyed. It isn't really the reaction I'd expected. I narrow my eyes at her as a warning not to be rude, but she doesn't notice.

"You don't like it?" Peeta asks. He seems a little confused, but still has a small smile on his face.

"No." She glances at him timidly and then looks away just as quickly. I'm about to tell her how rude she's being, but then she continues with, "I love it. It's just… it's way too pretty to eat. Can I look at it for a while?"

Peeta chuckles softly, looking relieved. "Take all the time you need. Sometime I'll have you come back and help me decorate. Does that sound fun to you at all?"

Her eyes go wide again as she asks in a startled voice, "You'd let me? Really?"

"Of course!" He nods and seems amused at how easily pleased she is. "I have to teach your sister how to do it first, though." He raises his eyebrows and looks at me suddenly. "Are you ready?"

I glance at him a bit oddly. "For what?"

"Your first shift?"

"Sure," I answer, though I don't feel ready at all. But I don't really have a choice, do I?

* * *

I wait nervously in the back room for Peeta as he gets dressed into his work uniform. I don't know what to expect now. I'm on the clock, and I am not sure how he is when he's in work-mode. I just hope he isn't too harsh or anything, though I can't really see him being that way.

Finally, he walks into the room and I feel the butterflies come back again. I'm not sure if I like this feeling or hate it, but I wish it would go away. He looks at me with a brilliant grin, obviously very excited to teach me everything he knows about baking. The bright turquoise of the shirt really brings out the blue in his eyes, and I find myself wondering if this was one of the reasons why Mr. Mellark chose it.

As if reading my mind he tells me, "You know I never really cared for these uniforms until today?"

I look at him with confusion and curiosity. "Why today?"

"Because you're wearing one," he replies casually as he goes over to the sink and washes his hands. He gestures for me to follow suit, so I quietly make my way over to him and wash mine too.

I don't really know what to think of what he just said, other than he's trying to make me feel welcome to the new job. I know he doesn't mean anything more by it. Anyway, why does he always have to be so effortlessly sweet? I'm not used to it, and it's starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I think I've heard enough compliments in this one day from him than I have in the last year from everyone else.

He makes his way over to the counter and dries his hands off with a towel, then hands it to me. I take it quickly from him, suddenly avoiding his eyes.

"I think I'll start with teaching you how to kneed bread dough, since that's what we sell the most of."

"Okay."

I watch as he scoops some flour out of a canister and spreads it out onto the counter-top. He evens it out and then grabs a big mixing bowl from a shelf.

"I'll go ahead and mix everything real quick first. I won't tell you how to make bread on your first day, we'll save that for later. We're just going to start out with the little things first, like kneading, and work our way up…."

I don't say anything, and just keep watching him as he mixes the ingredients in the bowl. I notice small things like flour, water, and yeast. He mixes it with a big wooden spoon, telling me, "I'd use a mixer, but I think it tastes better this way. It takes patience, but it's worth the reward in the end."

I nod, and keep watching him intently. I can tell he has done this many, many times before because it seems like he could do it all with his eyes closed. Finally he flips the bowl over, letting the ball of dough drop onto the surface of the counter.

"Have you ever done this before?"

I shake my head no, looking a bit worried at him. He smiles back reassuringly. "Don't worry, Katniss. You'll be fine. You'll be amazing by the time I'm through with you. I promise you that."

Well, he seems certain enough. I wish I felt even an ounce of the confidence he has in me. He's probably just trying to make me feel better about learning all of this, and I have to admit… it _is _working a bit. I'm still very nervous, but I know I have a great teacher to learn from.

He starts to knead the dough expertly. It just seems to mold and flow with the movement of his hands, obeying him without question. He makes it look so easy, and I know it can't possibly be so simple. After a minute or two, he stops and gestures for me to come over. Hesitantly and nervously, I do so.

And I just _know_ this is going to be embarrassing.

"Let's see you give it a try?" He tilts his head in question, and so I nod in return. "That's the spirit! Can I see your hands real quick?"

It's such a simple request, but I feel my heart leap to my throat. As if on queue, my hands start to shake erratically. I don't want him to see them. They're calloused, bruised, and scarred; it's embarrassing and I feel very self-conscious about them. I shake my head, securing my hands tightly behind me.

He seems taken aback by this and asks again, quietly, "Can I _please _see your hands? I just need to put flour on them for kneading." He's searching my face intently and I find myself wondering what he must be thinking. I'm sure I'm coming off as the strangest person he's ever encountered.

Giving in, I sigh and look away as I open my hands in front of him. I swallow hard, my body trembling as he takes them in his. I feel his fingertips like a feather's touch on my palms, tracing the lines on them slowly. And I am more than slightly confused. What in the world is he doing? I finally look down at what's happening. He runs his thumbs down the length of my hand, and then focuses on my palms again. The rest of his fingers move slightly and gently on the underside of my hands. I narrow my eyes, and feel my face warm up.

I look at him and see that he's staring down, seemingly focused on what he's doing.

"What are you—?" I start to ask, suddenly finding my voice again. He looks up at me quickly as if I had taken him out of some sort of trance.

"Just… just trying to get you to relax a little," he replies quickly and looks away. "You're shaking so much. Am I making you nervous?" His hands leave mine, but only long enough to get some flour to put on them.

I shrug.

"I guess. A little."

He smiles timidly at me, as if it's taking everything in him to meet my eyes with his.

"There's no need for that, you know," Peeta says after a moment and then lets a breath out. "And for what it's worth, you make me nervous too."

"I'm sorry." I apologize, though I'm unsure of what he means. He takes my hands in his again, sprinkling flour on them and then rubbing it in gently.

"Don't be. It's not a bad nervous at all," he tells me softly. He bites his lip and then looks at me with a sudden excited expression, "I think we're ready now. Let's see you knead your first dough."

He brings my hands to the dough and let's go, looking at me expectantly. "Just remember what I did, and try to mimic it as much as you can."

I nod and then gulp a bit loudly as I try to repeat what he was doing before. My fingers sink into the dough, however, and it sticks to me. I feel my cheeks turn red with nervousness, but I try to keep on, hoping I will improve… but I don't. My hands are shaking and I just feel awkward. I suck at this. I should just give up now. Peeta isn't laughing at me or anything though, which I'm surprised at.

"Here, let me show you something." He gently pulls my hands back again, palm up as they were before. I nearly yank them away, feeling frustrated, but he keeps a steady grip on them. I stare at him in defeat. He shakes his head, smiling as if nothing even happened. "You're not going to be perfect the first time, Katniss. Don't feel bad, okay? Practice makes everything better with time. Now… just trust me?" He raises his eyebrows.

I don't know what I'm supposed to trust him about, but I shrug and nod at the same time and look away again. "When you knead, it's all about using your palms…" I take in a breath as he places his palms against mine and pushes down on them. I glance at him curiously. What exactly is this supposed to accomplish?

He then looks at me and flips my hands over onto his. "Now push down on my palms, the same way I just did with yours, okay?" I raise an eyebrow at him as if he's lost his mind. He laughs in amusement, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling, "Just trust me..."

I sigh and then I do as he asks. I push the bottoms of my hands onto his with force. "Now do it again," he instructs me. I roll my eyes, feeling silly for doing this. But I push down again. "And again, just keep doing it until I tell you to stop." I feel like I can't breathe, and my heart is racing. I know he's just teaching me how to knead dough, but all of this just seems… odd. I'm not used to people touching my hands, not for extended periods of time like this. I keep pushing onto his palms with mine, over and over again, until finally he stops my hands in his and says, "I think you're ready now." He runs a thumb over the top of my hand gently, and then lets go.

My hands feel strange and tingly, and suddenly cold. I place them onto the dough though, as he tells me, and then push my palms onto it as I did Peeta's hands.

It's working! It's not sticking to me and my fingers aren't sinking into it anymore. I grin widely and look at him in excitement. He shrugs and smiles back proudly. "Like I told you before, you're going to be amazing. Oh, and Katniss?"

I look at him as I continue kneading, feeling triumphant that I'm actually doing it right. "Hmmm?"

"Your hands are as beautiful as your smile," he turns away, putting some ingredients on a shelf suddenly. "You shouldn't feel ashamed of them. I just thought you should know."

I turn back to the dough, not knowing how to really respond to that.

I never knew hands could be considered beautiful, and if they can, I know mine definitely aren't.

It's a sweet lie, though, so I'll take it without argument.

* * *

When the shift is over, I change into my old clothes so Snow won't throw a fit over the new ones. I fold them and then place them into my backpack, opting to keep the rest at work. Overall, this day had gone better than I expected, and I really don't want to leave. All good things must come to an end sometime, though.

Peeta locks up for the night and then gives Prim and me a ride home. No one really says much along the way, and Prim falls asleep in the back-seat half way home. I don't blame her; it's nearly 10pm and it's been a long day. I'm a little tired myself.

When Peeta starts to pull into our drive-way, I quickly tell him, "This is good. You can let us out here."

"It's late and it's dark, and I'm not doing that. Look, it's not that far—" He keeps driving.

I'm really starting to feel the panic set in.

"Please, Peeta?"

"No. I don't want something happening—"

"It won't. I walk outside here in the dark all the time. Please stop?"

He sighs heavily, obviously a bit frustrated with me. He stops the car and looks at me seriously. "I don't care where you live, okay? I'm not going to judge you. Do you really think I would?"

I bite my lip and look away. I finally answer, "Yes. I do."

"Well, I wouldn't. And I'm sorry you think I would," he replies quietly, and I can tell that I hurt his feelings a little. I don't have time to worry about that though. I can't let him see where I live, because despite what he believes… he _will _judge me. I have no doubt about that.

Before he can start the car again, I open the door quickly, grab my backpack and bag of bakery leftovers, and get out. He looks at me as if he's been defeated. "Fine, have it your way. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

I nod, "Yeah." I hesitate and then tell him, trying to make him feel a little better, "I had a great first day. Thank you."

This seems to do the trick. He smiles again and replies with, "Hopefully the second will be even better."

I smile back and then move to open the back door of the car. I wake Prim up, and she jumps as she realizes we're already home. She gets out quickly, looking tired and jaded. We start to walk away and then I hear him tell me, "Goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight, Peeta," I reply back.

He places the car in reverse, and I feel a little saddened as he drives away.

Now it's back to reality.

* * *

Prim is still groggy and not saying anything as we walk along the gravel road. I'm still feeling a little excited and energetic from everything that has happened today. I don't want to go back home, really. I don't want to face Snow and the nightmare we live in again.

I try to distract myself by tickling Prim, who yanks herself out of my grip and runs a short distance ahead of me to get away.

"Someone has a cruuush!" I pick on her in a sing-song voice, trying to lighten the mood as we approach our hell. "Prim and Peeta sitting in a tree—"

"Hush, Katniss!" she replies bashfully, and then quips back with, "I just think he's really handsome and nice, is all. He _really_ is. And you know it's true!"

I stick my tongue out and then keep teasing her playfully, finding it soothing to do something that siblings normally do. "Yeah, and your face goes cherry red and you get all shy when he talks to you—"

"So? Your face was red too!" She turns to me in challenge, her hands on her tiny hips.

"It was _not_, Prim!" I defend myself. "And if it _was_, it's only because I was hot from working hard."

"You weren't working very hard at all though." She raises an eyebrow.

I sigh and keep walking. I am not going to entertain her silly ideas. I just tell her in a final voice, "I do not like Peeta in that way. Now, drop it."

"Mmmhmm," she replies with a hint of humor. "I'm pretty sure he likes you too."

I turn around to face her again, my face questioning.

"Why would you even say that?"

"Why would you care?" She grins mischievously. "You don't like him, right?"

"I don't have to like him in order to be curious about what you just said. Now tell me what you meant," I demand with a frown. I don't like to be teased and I don't like being lied to either. I really want to know why Prim would say such a thing. I mean, there's no way someone like Peeta would be interested in me, not romantically and I know that, but I still find it intriguing why she would come to that conclusion.

She sighs a little wistfully, and then shrugs her shoulders. "The way he looks at you says it all, really."

"Whatever!" I let out a forced laugh, but I'm really getting annoyed. "He just looks at me like he has eyes, like everyone else. Stop making things up, Prim. It's not very nice, you know."

"I'm _not_ making it up!" She defends herself adamantly, crossing her arms in protest. "He _also_ asked me things about you!"

"Yeah? Like what?" I ask in disbelief, though I find that I really want to know if what she's saying is true. What would he ask Prim that he couldn't ask me himself? He could have asked her anything at all, and it's a little unnerving. What did she _tell_ him? Instantly, all sorts of bad things run through my mind.

"Ask him yourself," Prim replies quietly, as if I've hurt her feelings. "I'm not telling, since you don't believe me anyway."

"You better _not_ have said _anything_ about the way we live!"

"I didn't!"

"Good, and you better not ever. Now what did he ask?"

"Odd, random things really," Prim answers, purposefully being vague. She then goes silent again. I'm starting to feel frustrated by how she's acting.

I sigh loudly and ask, "Like _what_?"

"Like… your favorite color and what foods you like," she shrugs and then looks intently at me as if to make a point. "And if you have a boyfriend…."

"Oh, he did _not_!" I roll my eyes and start walking off again. There's no way Peeta would have asked Prim something like that; not about me. He would not be interested in whether or not I have a boyfriend. Anyway, I think that would be rather obvious. I've never had a boyfriend before, and I'm sure he knows that. Everyone else at school does. That would just be a stupid thing to ask, really.

"Uh huh! He did so! When you were putting on your work clothes," Prim retorts. I turn to her again, searching her face for any obvious tell-tale signs of her lying. I'm usually very good at figuring out whether or not she's fibbing. She seems completely serious as she looks back at me, though. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her lips are pursed in indignation. Prim and I rarely ever argue or even disagree with each other, and I can tell it has her slightly upset. "I'm not lying, Katniss. He really did ask me about you."

I have so many questions running through my head, but none of them make any sense. And it's not like I can ask Peeta about this. That would be a very uncomfortable and awkward conversation… especially if there is even a small chance that Prim is fibbing.


	9. Misunderstanding

_Chapter Nine_

**Misunderstanding**

_**"The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man be perfected without trials."**_

**_-Danish Proverb_  
**

"Well, what did you tell him?" I ask Prim. I really don't think she knows the answers to any of those questions he supposedly asked her. We don't normally sit around discussing favorite colors, foods, or boys. Well not until now, anyway.

"I didn't say anything. I just said I didn't know," she answers with a yawn and a shrug.

"Good," I say, feeling a little less annoyed with everything. Seriously, if Peeta wants to ask things about me, he needs to ask _me_. Not my little sister.

And I think I do believe what Prim is saying, though I still don't have a clue why he'd be asking those things. I'm not going to dwell on it, though, because he was probably just making small-talk with her and didn't mean anything by it. I'm not going to ask him about it and make things weird between us, as much as we're going to be around each other from now on. This job means a lot to me, and I'd hate for it to become uncomfortable.

Prim and I don't say anything else as we reach the house. I see Snow's truck outside, and suddenly feel an ominous tug in my chest as I reach for the front door. I try to open it, but it won't budge. I feel my heart pound erratically as I try to turn the knob again. Nope, it's not going anywhere.

"Damn! Snow's locked us out again," I tell Prim, frustration and panic in my voice. I know better than to knock. He won't let us inside. He did this on purpose, and it's not the first time either. He's done this more times than I can count. If I knock on the door, he'll just beat me and throw me back out again anyway. I'm _really_ not in the mood to deal with this tonight.

I knew the goodness I was feeling wouldn't last long.

"Are we going to have to sleep outside tonight?" Prim asks me with a slight tremor. I know the thought of it scares her to death. We live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thick woods. There are many sounds of wild animals all around us, and things moving in the bushes and tall grass. Needless to say, the few times we did sleep outside, we didn't really get much sleep at all.

I shake my head. We can't do this during school. Prim needs her rest.

"No, we're not." I start to walk off, but she stands there with a questioning look on her face. "Well, come on!"

She quickly catches up to me and asks, "Where are we going?"

I know only one place we can go.

"The Hawthornes'."

* * *

Gale's family lives about a mile away from us, so it takes a little while to get there. I'm not sure of the exact time, but I'm guessing it's well after 11 pm by the time we reach the house. Prim is just about ready to pass out walking, since she was sleepy to begin with. I feel like I might collapse at any moment, myself.

I don't even hesitate before knocking hard on the door. I know I won't be turned away here; this place has kind of become a second home of mine over the years. I try not to make it a habit though, showing up like this, because I know Gale has enough on his plate to stress about without Prim and me being added to the mix.

Gale opens the door after a few minutes, looking like I'd woken him up; which I probably did.

He frowns and asks in a croaky voice, "Katniss, not that I don't mind you coming over, but what are you two doing here so late?"

I frown back, and answer shortly, "Snow locked us out again." And I know that he knows exactly what I mean without having to explain anything. This has happened many times before throughout the years.

He sighs heavily, looking annoyed and angry, then opens the door for us to enter.

"Well, come inside then," he says, standing back to let us through. He turns to Prim and tells her, "You can go on to Posy's room… try not to wake her up, okay?"

She nods quickly, her eyes barely open now. She throws her tiny arms around his waist in a grateful hug.

"Okay, Gale. Thanks for letting us stay. I get really scared having to sleep outside."

He pats her back a bit awkwardly. "It's all right, Prim. Now go try to get some sleep for school."

She nods and, after she tells me goodnight, makes her way down the narrow hallway to Posy's room.

I look around me, and notice everything is pretty much the same as the last time I was here. His house isn't much fancier than mine, but at least he has some old furniture, a TV, water, and electricity. Other than that, you can barely see the floor from all of the old laundry, trash, and dirty dishes lying about. Gale's mom doesn't really do any cleaning, being confined to a bed and high most of the time, and the kids don't really concern themselves with it. Gale is always working, and when he does get home, he usually just heads straight to bed. I can't blame him for it either and I'm not one to judge. I am just thankful to be under a roof right now; it's much better than the alternative.

I notice his two brothers, ages 10 and 14, fast asleep on the fold-out couch. Gale places his finger to his lips for me to be silent as we walk past them to his room.

Once inside, he shuts the door and turns to me. His bedroom is kind of plain, but a lot nicer than mine. He doesn't have anything on the walls, but he has a chest of drawers and a queen-sized bed, which is a lot more comfortable than sleeping on a small cot. Clothes are strewn across the floor, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. We both know how the other one lives, and we know we don't have to apologize for it. It's just how things are and how they've always been.

I know a lot of people would get the wrong impression, with me and Gale sleeping in the same bed. But it's nothing sexual; we just sleep and that's it. We've been sleeping in the same bed since we were children and we really don't think much of it. We're more like brother and sister, and we both know anything more than that would be out of the question. In fact, it's always been an unspoken thing between us.

Besides, if Gale wanted more than friendship from me, he would have said so long ago; he's not exactly shy or timid. Not that I would ever want that. I don't think I could ever feel more than platonic feelings for him. We've known each other for far too long and it'd honestly just be way too weird.

"So how was your first day on the job?" He asks as I settle down on the bed and start to take off my shoes and socks. He then sits down beside me and yawns widely, obviously very tired.

I shrug and can't help the small smile that comes to my face, despite the latter events of tonight.

"Really great, actually," I tell him, suddenly feeling a bit shy. I feel my face heat up a bit when I tell him, "Peeta taught me how to knead bread dough."

Gale frowns and raises an eyebrow as if he's unimpressed.

"Is it really all that hard?"

"It doesn't seem like it would be, but it was at first," I reply, then tell him a little excitedly, "Peeta showed me a way that made it really simple though!"

"And how's that?"

"With our hands. Here, I'll show you," I start to explain, and then gesture for him to lift his hands, palms up, the way Peeta showed me. Gale looks at me as if I'm being totally stupid, so I sigh and roll my eyes as I tell him, "Put out your palms. Like this." I show him with my own hands.

He does, but he doesn't seem to really care. In fact, he looks a little annoyed and impatient. I place my palms onto his and push down the way I did with Peeta, but it feels so much more different. Gale's hands are rough, rigid, and cold; so unlike Peeta's, which were gentle, soft, and warm. It's just not the same at all. Gale asks in a bored voice after a moment, "What the hell are you doing?"

"This is how I was taught to knead dough. Peeta says it's all about using your palms…." I press down a few more times, but this is just pointless. I feel like an absolute idiot, and Gale is looking at me as if I am too.

"Um, no offense… but this is kind of weird, Katniss," he tells me, shaking his head. He quickly takes his hands from under mine. He then moves up on the bed to lie down. I follow suit, on the opposite side, feeling a little dejected. He turns to me and looks a bit suspicious. "You sure it just wasn't a reason for him to touch your hands?"

"No it _wasn't_, Gale!" I roll my eyes and then add defensively, "And it worked really well, actually. It's just not the same here, with you. You're just not patient like Peeta is."

"Yeah, not really. I find baking to be a huge waste of time. If I want bread, I'll just buy some from a store," Gale retorts, pulling the covers up to his shoulders. I do the same, feeling somewhat angry with him now. He's silent for a moment, but then tells me, "By the way, it feels like hand humping. You basically just had hand sex with dough boy."

"Whatever, Gale! It wasn't like that at all. You're such a huge asshole sometimes, you know that?"

Seriously, it wasn't like that at all between Peeta and me, and I'm mortified that he'd even say such a thing. It was totally innocent, and Peeta was just teaching me how to knead… and Gale's making it into some sordid sexual thing.

"Yeah, yeah. Get over it and go to sleep," he mumbles in reply. He then flips over onto his side, away from me, and doesn't say anything else.

I sigh in frustration, and then turn over onto my side as well.

We fall asleep with our backs facing each other, like we always do. It takes a few hours for me to fall asleep though, because I can't stop thinking about everything. About Snow, how horrible things are, and how I want to improve them; and how it seems impossible. And then of Peeta, Mr. Mellark, and the bakery; and how much I want to be there instead of here. I felt safe and happy there, and wanted and needed. And I never really felt that before.

I've never really felt _special_ like that before.

* * *

I feel like my eyes had only just closed when I'm woken up by Gale the next morning. We don't say anything to each other since I'm still a little annoyed with him. He doesn't seem to care though, or even notice. He has too many other things to worry about, like getting his brothers and sister up and ready for school.

Prim borrows an outfit from Posy for the day. Posy is 12 and slightly bigger than Prim. Her clothes are really loose on her, but it's better than wearing the same thing she did yesterday. I don't really have anything to wear besides what I had on the day prior. Then I remember I have my work uniform folded up in my backpack… except no one will know it's a work uniform besides Peeta. And I don't think he's going to tell anyone. I'm not sure how I'll explain it, but I'll think of something.

I ride the bus into town, taking the opportunity to sleep a little bit along the way. I don't really get much though before we arrive at the school. I feel drained, like I could drop at any moment, and I really don't know how I'm going to make it through the day. It feels like I haven't slept a wink and I still feel some leftover annoyance from last night. I just have a horrible feeling that today is going to be a bad one and I already want to get it over with.

I walk into my first hour class, find the same table in the very back as I did yesterday, and sit down. I put my arms on the desk and lay my head down on them, closing my eyes for a few moments. I must have drifted off to sleep rather quickly, because the next thing I know, there's a hand rubbing my back and a familiar voice near my ear, "Katniss… you should _really_ wake up before class starts."

I open my eyes slowly and see Peeta beside me, looking worried and concerned. I don't feel like dealing with him this morning. I'm too tired for this. I sigh, sit up, and rub my eyes. His hand is still on my back, rubbing it soothingly. And I want to tell him to stop, but it feels too good, so I choose to ignore it.

He leans down next to my ear again and asks, "Why are you wearing your work uniform?"

I look at him with narrowed eyes, feeling a bit cranky and defensive that he'd even ask; even though I had kind of expected it. I shrug and look away, "Because I like it."

Peeta seems to buy this explanation because he simply smiles and says, "Oh, okay. I was just curious. Don't get mad."

The girls that were giggling and talking about us yesterday are back at it again today. I'm _so_ not in the mood for this. I'm sure it's not improving anything with Peeta's hand still on my back; it's not doing anything to draw attention away from us, anyway. I don't really care though, they're going to talk badly about me regardless. I might as well enjoy something out of it.

Peeta and I don't speak much throughout class, since we don't really get the chance. And I honestly just don't feel like talking because I am barely keeping my eyes open as it is. However, at the end of class he asks me, "Are you okay? You don't seem like you're feeling very well. Maybe you should go see the school nurse."

I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. I'm just really tired. I didn't get much sleep at all last night."

"Why?" He has that concerned and worried look on his face again. "You can tell me—"

"I just couldn't sleep well is all," I reply quickly, looking away. "Anyway, I need to get to 2nd hour, okay? I'm going to be late and so are you. I'll see you later."

"Okay," he says, but doesn't look convinced by my answer. "I really hope you feel better, Katniss."

* * *

I don't talk to Peeta the rest of the day though. I purposely avoid him again. I see him talking to Delly in class after lunch, but I choose to avoid looking in their direction as much as possible. And I'm purposefully late for last hour so we're not obligated to sit next to each other. It's not that I don't _like_ being around Peeta or talking to him; he's probably the one person I _can_ tolerate. I'm just not in the mood to deal with_ other_ people today. I'd rather just be invisible, and not have attention drawn to us more than it needs to be.

Quite a few people had noticed the difference in the clothes I wore today, and I really regret wearing them at all. I usually wear baggy clothes, and now I'm almost thankful for them. I've heard enough inappropriate and sexual comments from boys, and rudeness from girls that I feel I could explode at any moment. Every other girl dresses like this, except a lot more risqué, and yet I get noticed and made to feel like an outcast, as always. It really gets old and tiresome, but I try my best to ignore it all and just get through the day.

Finally it's the end of the day and I'm riding in the car with Peeta. He says a few things to me, but I'm so tired that I really don't hear any of it. We pick up Prim and then head straight to the bakery.

I'm happy to be in the bakery again, but I also feel very nervous. I'm extremely tired and I lack motivation or enthusiasm to really learn anything. Peeta seems to understand, because as soon as his dad leaves he comes over to me and, rubbing my back gently like he did this morning, tells me quietly and discreetly, "Look, it's a slow night and I can handle things on my own, okay? I know you're not feeling very well, Katniss. Why don't you go upstairs and lay down for a bit?"

I look at him in defiance. "I'm _fine_. I can work—"

He shakes his head and looks at me with a frown. "No, I won't let you. You'll still get paid and everything, and no one will know about this. There's a bed upstairs, okay? Please go get some rest."

"Why is there a bed upstairs?" I ask, finding it a bit odd.

He hesitates and then replies in a conspiratorial whisper, "Honestly? My mom and dad don't really have a very happy marriage. Dad sleeps here sometimes when he can't take it anymore. Don't tell anyone I told you that, okay?"

I nod, not really knowing what to say. I guess I'm not all that surprised by it. Mrs. Mellark doesn't really seem like she'd be a treat to live with, never mind sharing a bed with. I suddenly feel very bad for Mr. Mellark.

"Now, go get some sleep," he tells me in a stern, yet caring voice. "I'll wake you if I need you, but right now I really need for you to feel better. Don't worry about Prim, either. She'll be perfectly okay. I'll probably have her help me decorate or something. I'll just tell her you're off running an errand for me."

I nod again, and then he shows me where the staircase is. He tells me that the bed is, "off in a room, to the side," and that I can't miss it. When I get upstairs, I notice that it's kind of like a small apartment. Or it could be... or used to be. There are boxes, storage, and baking equipment everywhere now, however. Even though I feel curious, I don't really look around much. Also, I'm simply far too tired for it and feel it'd be kind of nosy. I quickly find the door that Peeta was talking about and push it open, finding a big fully made bed inside. I waste no time before I crawl into it and envelop myself in its soft warmth, falling asleep seemingly as fast as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

"Katniss! Wake up…." I hear Peeta's voice.

"Hmmm…?" I sit up and look at him groggily. "What?"

He's looking very curiously at me, and it's probably because my hair is an absolute mess.

"You need to wake up, and probably rebraid your hair before you go downstairs. Someone's here that wants to see you," he says with small frown on his face. "I told him you were busy, but he's insisting."

"Who is it?" I ask as I quickly get out of bed. My stomach feels queasy all of a sudden. I hope it isn't Snow. "Did he say?"

He shakes his head and looks away. "I didn't really ask. Sorry."

I let out a long breath, trying to calm my nerves a little. I quickly undo my hair, running my fingers through it to straighten all the tangles out, and then start to braid it again. Peeta is still standing there, looking at me a bit strangely, and so I ask him, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason," he answers, stuffing his hands into his pockets a bit nervously. He starts to walk out of the room, then turns back to me and says quietly, "You should really try wearing your hair down sometime. It looks really nice."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just shrug. I'm too nervous and scared, wondering who could be waiting for me, that I can't really think of anything else. I follow him down the stairs in silence until I'm finally in the store-front.

Oh, thank goodness. It's not Snow at all. But still someone I really didn't expect to see…

Gale.

I narrow my eyes at him and cross my arms. I'm still annoyed with him, and I don't really feel like talking to him after what he said about Peeta and me last night. I feel my face turn red just thinking about it. I hope he doesn't bring it up here. That would be pretty embarrassing to have to explain.

Gale comes over to me and asks, "Were you just sleeping?"

"Maybe. I didn't get much sleep last night, did I?" I reply coldly and shrug. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I can't stay long," Gale tells me. He sighs loudly and looks around. "Can we talk in private?"

I look over at Peeta, who isn't really making it a secret that he's watching us. He raises his eyebrows in question, but I'm not about to answer. I shake my head, knowing that asking to take a break or talk to Gale in private would be pushing his kindness too far. "Look Gale, just say what you need to real quick. I already took my break."

"Fine." Gale lowers his voice slightly, but not much. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being so rough last night, and for not saying anything to you this morning. I've just had a lot going on lately and you're right, I was being an asshole."

"Yeah, you were," I agree, but I feel Peeta's gaze on us, and I just want to get Gale out of here as soon as possible. It just doesn't seem right, him being here. I feel like my worlds are mixing, and I don't like it at all. "But I forgive you. I understand. You need to go though. I really need to get back to work."

It takes me totally by surprise when he hugs me. I don't hug back though; I just push hard against his chest to get him to release me, which he does rather quickly. I shake my head, feeling perturbed. "Not here. I'm at work, Gale."

He _knows_ that I don't like to be hugged normally, and _definitely_ not in public. He's really starting to get on my nerves all over again.

"Sorry," he says again. "Anyway, Posy asked if Prim could come over this evening. I said it's okay with me, if it's okay with you."

"Sure," I answer quickly, wanting this conversation to end. I'm starting to feel very uncomfortable as I know Peeta can hear everything we are saying, even though he's straightening out shelves across the room. I don't want Gale to mention anything about how we live. "I'll come by to get her later, after I'm done here."

"So we're cool?" Gale asks as he raises his eyebrows. I nod and cross my arms again. "I really am sorry, Katniss. Anytime you need it, my bed is always open to you. Don't you forget it. Don't ever hesitate to come to me when you need to, okay? You know I always try to help when I can. I was just really tired and grumpy last night."

I nod again, but I don't say anything. I can only wonder what Peeta must think of all of this. And I'm not really in a hurry to tell him either.

When Gale and Prim leave, I don't really know how to explain my encounter with Gale to Peeta. He doesn't ask about it, so I decide not to say anything. He's really quiet for the rest of the night anyway, like he has something on his mind, but I don't ask. It's none of my business. And I don't want to add to it with what's going on with me. Besides, he probably doesn't even care.

I clean tables, sweep, and help him get rid of expired baked goods in silence. Things seem really weird between us, and I'm not sure why. He's not being mean to me, but there's a noticeable change about him.

Then it dawns on me…

He's not smiling at all. In fact, he's frowning.

And I_ really_ don't like it at all.

* * *

After we close up for the night, and we're in the car on the way home, he finally breaks the awkward silence between us.

"Hey, I don't want you to think I was eavesdropping or anything, but I couldn't help but overhear you and that older guy that came into the bakery earlier tonight—" he starts a bit hesitantly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Gale?"

"Yeah," he answers. "I don't mean to be nosy, but did I hear right? That you slept in his bed last night?"

Oh no! Is that why he's been so quiet? Did it make him feel uncomfortable? He probably has the totally wrong impression. I should have known he'd heard that! Well, I can't really lie to him about it and tell him he heard wrong. Gale wasn't exactly quiet when he said it. All I can do is try to explain as best as I can.

"It's not really a big deal or anything!" I blurt. I can feel my face turning cherry red. "We just sleep together and that's _all_. We've been doing it for years."

"Does it happen often?" He asks quietly. He's biting his lip, but other than that, I can't really read his face in the dark.

I swallow hard and shrug my shoulders, feeling very awkward and self-conscious to be talking about this with Peeta. We barely know each other, after all. "We used to all the time, but not so much anymore. It only happens occasionally," I try to explain, intentionally leaving out Snow as the main reason why. I'm not ready to explain that to Peeta, and hopefully I'll never have to. He looks a little confused, so I feel like I should clarify that it's not what he's probably thinking. "We're _only_ friends though, nothing more than that. In case you're wondering."

"Oh," Peeta says quickly, as if he finally gets what I'm saying. "So it's like a casual thing?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's not anything fancy." I suppose it's considered casual, though it's not_ really_ a regular habit. I definitely wouldn't call sleeping in Gale's bed fancy in the least, though.

"I see," Peeta says, then adds as an afterthought, "Well, I think you deserve fancy."

"I'll take what I can get." I let out a small cynical laugh. There isn't much fancy where I come from.

He doesn't say anything else and seems to be very concerned with his driving, narrowing his eyes in concentration. There's fog out in patches, and I know it must be hard to see very well.

We don't say anything else until I see Gale's house coming up.

"You can let me out here," I tell him suddenly. He stops the car and I get out without another word said between us. I turn back to him. "There's no need to wait around. Gale will give Prim and me a lift back home from here. Thanks again for the ride, Peeta, and for… everything else tonight. I really appreciate it."

He doesn't say anything, only nods and looks straight ahead.

I go to walk off towards the house, but then turn back around when I hear him ask, "Hey, Katniss?"

I walk a little closer. "Yeah?"

He seems to hesitate at first, but finally faces me with a concerned expression. He's frowning still, and I somehow know he's going to tell me something I don't want to hear. He releases a long breath and then says quickly, "I'm not trying to be mean or anything, so don't take it that way, but I don't think it's a good idea to be sleeping around on weekdays. Not if it makes you too tired for school and work. And also, I think he's way too old for you. It really sounds like he's just using you. And you also shouldn't have Prim around it all. I just… I thought you were better than this. In fact, I _know_ you are."

I let his words sink in for a few moments, and then my eyes go wide in shock. Oh god. He thinks that Gale and I are having sex_. Casually._ That's what he had meant earlier. Oh no… _no, no, no!_ This _isn't_ happening. I should have clarified things more. I am so stupid! Why do I have to be so bad at saying things? Now, Peeta must think horrible things about me. And it's entirely my fault.

"Wait… what? Peeta!" I feel totally mortified. I don't even know where to begin. I didn't expect this at all. I attempt to explain, "Oh god! No. It's not like that at all! Gale is just a _friend_. We only sleep—"

"You really don't have to give me the details," Peeta cuts me off, sounding noticeably hurt. "It's none of my business. Look, it's late and I need to get home—"

"But Peeta, I think you totally misunders—" He cuts me off again before I can finish my sentence.

"I _really_ need to go, Katniss. Try to get _some_ sleep tonight, okay?" He says a bit hastily, and before I can object, he's already pulling away.

And I stand there, wondering what the hell just happened, as his car drives out of view.


	10. Arguments And Realization

_Chapter Ten_

**Arguments And Realization**

**_Never give up; Never lose hope. Always have faith, it allows you to cope. Trying times will pass as they always do. Just have patience, your dreams will come true. So put on a smile, you will live through your pain. Know it will pass, and strength you will gain._**

**_-Bel Claveria Carig Martinez_**

I can't believe what had just happened.

I keep standing in shock; hoping against all odds for Peeta's car to come back, for him to apologize, and let me explain myself. But he doesn't. I can't really blame him. Our conversation in the car keeps replaying over and over in my head; how I had told him that Gale and I sleep together… _of course_ he'd come to the wrong conclusion! He doesn't know Gale; he doesn't know what I meant by it, or why we'd even be sleeping in the same bed to begin with. And then the whole "casual" thing; I totally misunderstood him, and vice-versa. I am _so_ stupid! I'm a huge idiot with horrible social skills. How could I _not _realize what it sounded like to him at the time? Or why he was acting so strangely and being so quiet all night after Gale left?

Still, I never expected Peeta to be so… _not _Peeta. He wasn't _trying_ to be mean, I know that. He was concerned about me; I guess that's it anyway. Or maybe he thinks I'm some sort of tramp and now he's embarrassed to be seen with me or have to work with me? Regardless, he was a little harsh with his words when he left and extremely rude for not giving me a chance to explain. How dare he assume that I "sleep around" or that I would dare have Prim in the vicinity of it! It makes me a little angry that he'd think that way about me. But, then again, he doesn't really know me well enough to think otherwise, does he?

In the short time I've gotten to know Peeta and spend time with him, he's only had kind and sweet things to say to me. He's never said one mean thing, and I guess I was sort of starting to like it. It was a nice change from how other people treat me. He made me feel… _different._ Normal. Like I mattered. Like I was slightly important; or important enough to acknowledge, anyway. And _now_… now he thinks I'm this disgusting, trashy person.

The one person who thought I was worth talking to now thinks I'm worthless. And I hate it; I hate that I even care. I usually don't care at all about the rude things people say and assume about me. So why does this matter? Why does _he_ matter?

He _doesn't _matter. And I _shouldn't_ care.

But I _do_ care. And he _does_ matter. And I feel absolutely horrible.

Besides all of that, I seriously need this job and I know things are probably going to be really awkward and uncomfortable between us now. I really hope Peeta doesn't make things hard on me or get me fired. Oh god… what if he tells his dad that I slept on the job? I wouldn't blame him, since he thinks the only reason I was tired was because I was having casual sex all night with Gale. I don't even want to think about it. The very thought makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I hate that Peeta even had the thought in his head at all.

I only hope that he lets me explain. I don't know how I will, but I have to. I have to tell him what I meant about me and Gale. Only… how do I explain why we sleep in the same bed, anyway? I know that any way I explain it, it still sounds odd.

And I still feel _so_ tired. I can't think straight and I feel like I'm going to explode at any second. I am so frustrated with everything and I don't know how I'm going to fix this at all. I haven't a clue. And on top of that, I still have to go home and face Snow, who I know won't be pleasant at all. He never is.

I really just want to find a hole somewhere and crawl into it, and never come back out ever again.

I walk into Gale's house without even knocking. I know I am not the only one at fault here. He has some things to answer for, whether he likes it or not. He knows better than to talk about certain things in public, and if it wasn't for his big mouth I wouldn't have had this misunderstanding with Peeta in the first place.

"Where's Gale?" I ask his little brother, Rory, who is playing a video game on the TV. He looks back at me with annoyance for interrupting his concentration.

"In his freakin' room! Now shut-up. You just got me killed, idiot!" He yells at me and turns back around. I shake my head at him, but I don't have time to argue with bratty children. I have bigger fish to fry right now.

* * *

I knock on Gale's door with force, repeatedly, until he finally opens it. I can tell I just woke him up. He's looking at me with his eyes half open and a sleepy scowl on his face. Without a word, I angrily push him back and enter his room. He shuts the door and turns to me, looking annoyed.

"What's your problem, Katniss!"

"You!" I yell loudly. My hands are balled into fists and my body is surging with adrenaline. "What the hell was that, Gale? How dare you come into the bakery and say those things right in front of Peeta!"

"What things?" Gale replies back a little too calmly. He rolls his eyes at me. "You're being a drama queen—"

"Like hell I am! Do you know what he _thinks_?"

"No, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out," Gale replies dryly, seemingly uninterested. He closes his eyes and rubs them with his fingers as if he's already bored.

"He thinks we're sleeping together!" I tell him angrily.

"Technically, we _do_ sleep together." He shrugs and looks at me as if I am making no sense. He _knows_ what I mean, though; I've known him for years and I can tell when he's guilty. And he's _totally_ guilty of _something _right now.

"Okay, maybe I should be more _specific_," I retort vehemently, yet quietly so Prim or no one else can hear. "He thinks we're having... casual sex." I look away, feeling dirty and disgusting just saying it out loud.

Gale starts to laugh as if I had just told him a really hilarious joke. Okay, he's _really_ pissing me off now. There is nothing even _slightly_ funny about this at all. Besides that, I feel like he is making fun of me; as if the idea of being with me is laughable, and I resent him for it.

"What, _exactly,_ is so funny about that, Gale?" I pick a plate up off of the floor and toss it at him but, unfortunately, it misses and slams against the wall. This seems to stop his amusement, and get his attention, in an instant.

"What the hell, Katniss? Calm the fuck down! It's not that big of a deal; you don't have to get violent!"

"Apparently, I do. And _yes_, it's a _really _big deal! Now Peeta thinks I'm some sort of emotionless sex fiend, all because of you and your stupid mouth!" I yell back, and I am so overwhelmed, mortified, and agitated that a tear slips from my eye and down my cheek; which I instantly regret. I wipe it away quickly, but it's too late. Gale's already seen it.

"Don't be such a damn crybaby!" He looks angry now. "Why does it matter so much to you what that prick thinks anyway?"

"Don't you _dare_ insult him!" I reply heatedly. I feel my heart thumping wildly against my ribs and the blood rushing to my cheeks. "He never did anything wrong to you! And it matters because he's a friend and I have to work almost every day with him! Do you know how weird it's going to be now? You _know_ how important this job is for me!"

"A _friend_, huh?" Gale starts derisively. "Tell me, Katniss. Just how _upset_ did he get when he thought we were hooking up?" He raises his eyebrows to make a point, and I feel like punching him in the face for even insinuating what I think he is, or that he so casually talks about us "hooking up" as if it's some ordinary thing to say.

"What _exactly_ are you implying?"

"God, you're so damn dense sometimes!" Gale retorts in frustration. "I'm implying that he has the hots for you! It's so fucking obvious, Katniss!"

"He does _not_! You are being ridiculous!"

"Oh, _am_ I?" Gale gives me a sarcastic smile. "Then why was he so quick to ask if I was your boyfriend tonight when I came in and asked to see you? And why, then, when I told him it wasn't any of his damned business, did he try to lie and say you weren't around? He seemed_ really_ bothered by me being there, you should have seen the look on his face—"

"You didn't _really_ say that to him, did you?" I ask, feeling horrified and embarrassed that Gale spoke like that to Peeta. "Gale, I swear if you—"

"I _did_! And I'd do it again, the rich little twerp—"

I walk over to Gale quickly, and slap him as hard as I can across the face. His hand goes to his cheek, and for a moment, we stand there looking at each other with pure hatred, our faces red with anger and our breathing labored and heavy.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I ask him quietly, tears stinging my eyes again. I feel betrayed and hurt, and like I've just lost a friend. I feel like I've lost two friends, actually. The only ones I had. And now I'm truly alone.

"You," he answers coldly. "And him. I can tell you like him, Katniss! You're more obvious than you realize. He's all you ever talk about anymore. All the time! Peeta _this_, Peeta _that_. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta! Screw him and get it over with, okay? Stop talking to me about him. I don't give a shit!"

I'm about to defend myself and tell him that I do not like Peeta in that way, but then I feel my stomach fill with instant dread and realization. Oh god, no. My eyes go wide with shock and then I narrow them suspiciously at Gale when I ask, "Are you… _jealous_?"

"Don't flatter yourself!" he replies. He seems really agitated and won't meet my eyes. "I just don't want to be the one that has to pick up the pieces when pretty boy breaks your heart! In case you haven't noticed already, he's not like us. The only reason he'd be interested in you is because… well, do I _really_ have to tell you? Oh right, I do! You're not the brightest crayon in the box, after all." He looks furiously at me again. "He _knows_ you're poor and he _thinks_ you're easy!"

"No, he _doesn't_," I answer back. I know he's wrong. If that were the case, Peeta wouldn't have acted so disappointed in me when he thought I was "sleeping around." Gale's just trying to hurt me, and I don't want to hear it anymore. He'll just keep at it if I stay. I move past him and open the door. "But apparently _you_ do. I don't know what your problem is, Gale, but until you figure it out, don't talk to me and leave me alone! And stay away from the bakery!"

Before he can reply, I walk out and slam the door behind me.

"Prim!" I yell loudly. "We are leaving! Now!"

I walk outside and wait for her to make an appearance; it doesn't take long. She runs out of the house and towards me with a surprised and concerned look on her face.

"What's going on?" She asks quietly as she jogs to keep up with me. I'm making fast and angry strides to put as much distance between me and Gale as possible.

"Nothing."

"I heard you and Gale arguing—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Prim!" I say, staring straight ahead as I walk.

"I heard him talking about Peeta—"

"Shut-up!"

Prim goes silent as we walk along the dark gravel road towards home. I start to slow down when I can't see Gale's house anymore. And only then do I let the tears that have been stinging my eyes start to fall. I feel so weak and stupid; and I hate it, but I can't help it. I just feel so angry, betrayed, embarrassed, and confused… and I have no other way to vent, and no one at all to talk to. I've always known that I had no one who really cared about me, but now I truly and fully _feel_ it. I feel alone. I feel hopeless and horrible, and I'm just… _tired_. I'm tired physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally… in all ways. I just want to sleep and never wake up again. And who knows, maybe Snow will make that happen tonight.

Suddenly, Prim stops me as she wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes me tightly in a hug. "I love you, sis. I'm sorry for whatever happened…."

I hug her back, feeling whatever resolve I have vanish completely into the dark around us. Suddenly I am crying like I haven't in years. It feels good, and I know Prim won't tell anyone. "I love you, too, Prim. I'll be okay," I tell her in a shaky voice after a moment. I take a few gulps of air and wipe the wetness from my cheeks, trying to gain control of myself again. This is silly, really. I shouldn't be crying like a big baby. I've taken horrible beatings and never let one tear fall… so why am I now? It makes no sense at all.

We start to walk again, hand in hand.

After a few minutes, Prim says in an uncertain voice, "I know something that might cheer you up?"

"What?" I ask, yet knowing that nothing can really make me feel better.

"I was right," she replies. I can see her glance at me from the corner of my eye, but I keep staring ahead. "About Peeta and what I told you yesterday."

"What _about_ Peeta?" My voice comes out angrily.

"He _does _like you." Prim shrugs. "He told me so."

I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. I stop and look at her with a frown.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not. I swear!" Prim looks at me sincerely. "We were decorating a cake, and I asked him, 'Do you like my sister?' and he said, 'Am I that obvious?' and I said 'Kind of' and he said 'Well, not to her' and—"

"STOP!" I tell her loudly. My ears are ringing and I feel like my whole world is crashing down around me. I don't know what to think of what she's telling me. I don't know whether to believe it. Because believing her would change everything, and it'd also mean Gale was right about what he was saying.

Maybe he was right about everything.


	11. Peeta's Confession

_Chapter Eleven_**  
**

**Peeta's Confession**

**"_He who wishes to secure the good of others, has already secured his own." _**

**_-_**_**Confucius** _

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Prim tells me, looking deflated by my anger. "I thought you'd be happy about it. I know I would be. Peeta is _so_—"

"Peeta is an assuming asshole, just like everyone else," I respond icily and continue walking a little more briskly than before. I can't think straight. I don't know what to believe anymore; I've never had to deal with these sorts of things. I know Prim isn't lying, because why would she? Yet… why in the world would someone like Peeta like someone like me? I don't understand it. As much as I hate to even think it, maybe Gale was correct. Maybe Peeta has only been nice to me all along because he's only after one thing….

But that doesn't make sense either. Peeta just doesn't seem the type at all. He's never said one vulgar or sexual word to me, or even hinted at wanting that sort of thing. He was obviously upset and disappointed with me when he assumed I was having casual sex with Gale. Of course, this could be a male territorial thing; yet… I _really_ don't think so.

No, I don't think Gale is right about this at all. Peeta is too kind, sweet, and gentle for all of it to be an act. He's too much like his father to be that way. And even if he wanted that sort of gratification, there are a great number of girls who are way prettier than I am at school who would be more than happy to oblige him with that. There'd be no reason for Peeta to settle for me or waste his time and energy with it, really. Besides, there's a certain shyness to him that leads me to believe that he's just not like that at all.

Anyway, I need this job more than I need anything else. Even if I'm wrong, and Peeta _does _have those sort of intentions toward me, he'd just have to live with it and get over it. Contrary to what he believes about me right now, I've never been like that with a man, and I'm not about to jump into bed with someone at the drop of a hat. So, he'd just be tough out of luck. The same goes for if he actually likes me in the way Prim is telling me. I don't have the type of life where I can daydream about boys like some girly girl, and I am not about to start now.

"No, he's not!" Prim passionately defends Peeta. "He's really nice and he only has nice things to say about you."

"Whatever, Prim. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Drop it."

She does and we don't say anything else for the rest of the walk.

When we finally do get home, I am relieved to find the front door unlocked. I open it slowly and walk inside, expecting the worst.

Everything is deadly quiet; so silent I can only hear my own heart beating rapidly inside of my chest. I glance down the hall to my mom and Snow's bedroom, and notice that they are both fast asleep. He's probably sleeping off his high or had taken some downers.

I release a long breath that I had been holding back out of fear and dread.

Prim and I tip-toe to our bedroom as quickly and quietly as we can, shutting the door behind us. I am thankful that at least one thing that could be considered good happened tonight. Not getting beat by Snow is always an unexpected surprise.

At least I'll be able to sleep without any physical pain tonight; emotionally and mentally is another thing entirely, however.

* * *

The next morning when I arrive at school, I'm still feeling extremely nervous and paranoid of Peeta. I know I should want to explain things to him as quickly as possible and clear the air so work doesn't seem so awkward later, but I am not in a rush to talk to him. I don't really know what to say or where to start, and I definitely don't want to have a conversation like this in class where anyone can hear us.

I wait until the very last minute before class begins and then walk in. I don't want to sit by him. I don't know how he feels or what he thinks about me at this point, and I don't know if he'd even _want _to sit by me, but I don't want to take the chance. I'm not ready for it yet.

I see him as soon as I enter the room; his bright blue eyes meet mine and I glance away just as quickly, making my way to a desk on the opposite side of the room. He looks over at me with a sad, disappointed look on his face. It makes me feel sick to my stomach, because I know exactly what he's probably thinking of me.

Throughout class, I chance quick glances over at him. He seems very involved in his concentration of taking class notes. He doesn't look up even once to notice what's going on around him.

When class is over, I practically run out of the room to avoid him. However, I'm obviously not quick enough because he catches up to me in the hallway and, avoiding my eyes, hands me a folded up note. I take it from him with a suspicious look on my face. All he does is quietly mumble, "I'm sorry," and walk away just as quickly as he had caught up with me. I stand there for a few moments with the paper in my hand, almost too scared to read it.

What was he apologizing for? Last night or the things he had written in the note he just handed me?

I find an empty desk in the very back during second hour and finally decide I can't take the suspense any longer. I slowly unfold the paper in my shaking hands, not knowing what to expect, yet more than expecting for him to have written horrible things.

But the more I read, the more I feel my anger with Peeta ebb away until it vanishes completely:

_Katniss,_

_I know you're mad at me and you have every right to be. But I really am very sorry for what I said to you last night. It's not any of my business and I shouldn't have stuck my nose in where it didn't belong. That being said, I feel like I should explain my behavior a little.  
_

_I know you think I haven't noticed, but I've seen you go through so much over the years and I don't like the idea of someone using or hurting you. You shouldn't be treated that way and I admit that it made me a little angry with that guy (and not with you!), because you deserve nothing less than to be cherished and treated with respect. If it makes you feel good about yourself and it's something mutual that you want then fine, that's great. And like I said, it's none of my business anyway. But please don't ever think that's all there is or that's all you can get, because you are worth so much more and you deserve to be loved. You should never have to feel forced to settle for being used at some guy's primal convenience. I wish I could make you see that. You are a very brave, beautiful, and smart woman. You are wonderful, Katniss, and don't ever think for one second that you're not. Maybe you already know that, I have no idea, but I figure it doesn't hurt to hear it from someone else. I just want to see you as happy as you were in the bakery the other day, because you were truly radiant. Your smile has a way of brightening up the day so much that it puts the sun to shame, and the world is a much darker place without it. _

_Anyways, I really hope we can somehow forget about all of this and still be friends. I'm just now getting to talk to you and know you, and I'd hate to go back to silence because I've already been silent for way too long. I hope we can maybe talk at lunch? Please meet me by my car if you can. I'll understand if you're still too angry though. Again, I am very sorry Katniss. I was a huge jerk and would hate for this to make things uncomfortable at work, or between us in general. I just want things to go back to how they were before last night, if it's possible._

_-Peeta_

I sit with my eyes narrowed, reading and rereading his letter during the entirety of class, and then through the next one too. I've never received a note from someone in all my years in school, and especially nothing as sweet and nice as this. Despite what he thinks Gale and I do, he still sees me as this great person; still wants to be my friend. I don't come close to understanding it. How can someone be so kind to someone who doesn't really deserve it? I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. I don't know why I even matter at all to him. It's obvious from the letter that it isn't a sexual thing either; I have no problem believing that his intentions towards me are pure. But… _why_? Why even bother with me at all? I'm no one special. No one else would even give it a second thought; not even Gale, who I thought was my best friend, as witnessed last night.

I know I still have to explain things to Peeta. I gather my courage and decide to meet him at his car during lunch, like he asked in the note. I feel my body shake with nerves at the thought of confronting him and the fear of not knowing where our conversation will lead.

I see him standing by his car, getting ready to unlock the door, when I approach him.

"Hey…" I tell him quietly. He turns around instantly, his eyes going wide with surprise.

"You actually came." Peeta looks both confused and happy. He shrugs and continues, his face suddenly very serious, "I really didn't think you would show up. Not after what I said to you last night. I'm really, _really_ sorry, Katniss."

I glance away, feeling awkward to be talking to him about this out in the open. And also to be standing so close to him.

"Can I talk to you in the car? I don't feel like saying things out here… in front of everyone."

"Sure," Peeta replies and moves to unlock the passenger door for me. He opens it and gestures for me to get inside. I sit down and he shuts the door behind me, and then makes his way to the other side.

When we're both inside the car, he turns to me with a small, awkward smile.

"You seem like you got more sleep today."

"Peeta," I begin. My heart is thumping against my chest as I turn to him, "You left before I even had a chance to explain things to you last night—"

"You don't _have_ to explain _anything_ to me." He glances away, seemingly uncomfortable that I'd even bring the subject up to him again. I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it and it makes him feel weird, but I find that I don't want him thinking such bad things about me. I don't like him thinking that Gale and I are anything more than what we are, or that I "sleep around." Because that's _not_ who I am, and he should know that.

"Yes I do, because you were wrong about everything. _All _of it." I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. I lean back in the seat and stare up at the ceiling. I know I'll have to explain things to him, and I'm still unsure of how to explain why Gale and I sleep in the same bed in the first place.

I notice him looking at me again from the corner of my eye. He asks with confusion and curiosity in his voice, "What do you mean?"

I shake my head and sigh again.

"I _mean_… I was really tired yesterday and I guess I didn't think of how things sounded when I was saying them." I bite my lip and glance over at him again. He's staring at me intently, as if wanting to believe me, yet not fully convinced yet. He raises his eyebrows for me to continue, and so I mumble self-consciously, "Gale and I… we're not like… _that._ We never have been. When I said we sleep together, I meant _only _sleep, and nothing else."

"Really?" He asks. I nod slowly in reply and his face seems to brighten a little at this. I can tell that he's still a bit skeptical, however. I can't blame him for having questions. I know that he doesn't know me well enough to understand what I am trying to tell him. I'm aware that it's not the norm for men and women to sleep in the same bed without other things being involved in the mix. He looks out of his window, appearing to be deep in thought about something. He then places his hands on the steering wheel, lightly drumming his fingertips along the edge. He suddenly turns to me again, his face questioning, "But… why do you two sleep in the same bed, if it's not too nosy to ask?"

I close my eyes and rub them as I try to think of a reply to his question. I knew it was coming, and this is the one thing I had been dreading to answer. I finally just tell him as simply and truthfully as I can, trying to avoid any mention of Snow, "We've known each other all our lives. It's just never been a big deal. There aren't many places to sleep at his house, since he has a lot of siblings, and so I sleep in his bed sometimes. There's nothing more to it though. It's never been anything… _more_. He's mostly like an overprotective big brother."

"Oh," Peeta's eyes lighten and I see the sparkle return to them again. He turns his body fully towards me and suddenly looks ashamed, as he blurts in an apologetic tone, "Katniss, I'm so sorry for misinterpreting everything! I should have known better—"

"How could you have?" My hands are shaking uncontrollably, and I find myself wringing them together to try to steady them. I glance away from him again because I realize that it's only when he looks at me that I feel like this.

"I don't know." He shrugs and runs his hand through his wavy blond hair. "It just doesn't seem like your personality at all. I think that's why it shocked me so much last night when you said it."

I sit up straight in the seat, still glancing down at my hands as they fidget nervously with the hem of the huge t-shirt I'm wearing. I say quietly, wanting this conversation to end as quickly as possible, "I'm sorry for being an idiot who can't talk right."

"And I'm sorry for being an idiot who says hurtful things that he doesn't really mean," Peeta replies in turn, and I can tell he's being sincere. I notice his demeanor change in an instant, as if remembering something. "Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you lunch today. I hope that's okay?"

I glance curiously at him and he smiles back a little shyly, avoiding my eyes. I'm thankful that he isn't asking more about the Gale situation, and isn't dwelling on it. I watch in silence as he reaches into the back-seat and retrieves two brown paper bags. What in the world would even compel him to think of bringing me lunch? Does he know I don't eat at school? I guess he doesn't ever see me in the lunchroom, or maybe he knew we'd have to talk today and planned ahead...

He hands one of the bags to me. I hesitate at first, feeling awkward about accepting his charity. But then I realize that if I don't take it from him, that would be rude. And also, I'm kind of hungry too.

"Thank you," I tell him in a near whisper. "You really didn't have to."

"I know I didn't have to, I _wanted_ to." He gives me a half smile and then opens his bag to take out a sandwich.

I open the bag he gave me without another word. As I look into it, though, I feel my heart stop and the blood drain from my face. My mouth becomes dry and I can't find the words to even talk. My brain is going into overdrive with past memories and I feel instantly overwhelmed….

Inside is a sandwich; turkey, lettuce, and swiss cheese on whole wheat, an apple, a sugar cookie that's obviously from the bakery, and a small carton of chocolate milk.

To anyone else, this would just be normal food in a normal lunch. But to me, it's _so_ much more than that.

I remember being young, just having turned 12 years old. My dad had died earlier the previous year and Mom had married Snow a few months prior. It was when things started getting bad; when we moved into the trailer and the abuse was starting to increase, and when my shoulder was dislocated for the first time.

I stopped being able to receive school lunches, and while I was living as best as I could off the land with Gale before we had moved, I didn't know the new area well enough to venture off far. I was too scared to. I remember being so hungry… _unbelievably_ hungry. I wasn't used to the newly missed lunches at school. I still remember smelling the delicious scents of food that would waft down the hall from the cafeteria; how the other kids would talk about how horrible it all was while stuffing their faces, and how I'd envy them for every bite they took.

And then, as if by miracle, the lunches started appearing.

Every morning I'd sit in my assigned seat at the beginning of class and open the lid to find a brown paper bag with my name on it. Except, whoever spelled my name was spelling it wrong at first. In scrawled, childlike handwriting, it'd say:_ To: Catnis. _Nothing else. No "from" and no one ever gave me any indication that it was them. I thought maybe it was a sympathetic teacher for a while, trying to appear as a student. But I wasn't sure. This went on for months, every day, and I'd always save half of it for Prim. In a lot of ways, I feel like just this little bit of nourishment is what kept us alive in the beginning.

And then it stopped one day.

But every so often, I'd open my desk to find something inside of it. Sometimes it was a turkey and Swiss sandwich or a piece of fruit or… a cheese bun or cinnamon roll or a sugar cookie….

Just like all of the things in the paper bag that Peeta had just given me.

I shake my head, feeling just how surreal this all is. What does it mean?

And how did I never connect the dots before now?

All I know is that I need answers, and I need them now.

"Peeta…" I'm still staring down inside the bag with wide eyes. My voice comes out in a shocked, hoarse whisper. I glance at him in confusion and also dawning comprehension, "It was you… wasn't it? It had to be…."

"Katniss—" Peeta looks guilty and won't meet my eyes. And now I know it was him; I have no doubt about it.

I turn my body towards him in the seat, interested in hearing what he has to say about this. And what would compel him, as a young boy, to even do something so… thoughtful and out of the ordinary… for some poor girl he didn't even know or talk to. And why he never once mentioned it before or never even talked to me afterwards. I don't get it. I need to make sense of this somehow.

"You left the bagged lunches for me. After my dad died… and things got bad…." My voice is soft, almost questioning, but knowing. I know it was him. Why did he never say anything to me or take the credit for it? Anyone else would have.

Peeta still won't look at me. He just stares down at the sandwich in his hands, his face slowly reddening.

"I told you before." He shrugs and finally looks at me with a nervous smile. "I've noticed you more than you realize. I'm surprised you even remember." He glances away quickly and takes a bite of his food. I shake my head, still not understanding any of this. I feel like I am seeing Peeta in a whole new light and it scares me, but not in a bad way. I feel like he's some sort of mysterious guardian angel that, I am just now beginning to realize, was there all along and I was just never paying any attention. Am I really _that_ blind?

My mind is racing.

I sit back in the seat again and glance out of the window beside me, feeling my heart thump even more erratically as my breathing becomes unsteady. I feel like I might cry, but not from anything negative. I just feel overwhelmed by all of this. And also very, very confused.

He's not jumping to explain anything, so after a moment I turn my face to him again and ask quietly. "Why, though? You had no reason at all to do that. You didn't even know me or talk to me before. I really don't understand. Just… _why_?"

He sighs and shakes his head, as if gathering his thoughts to continue. I frown and raise my eyebrows impatiently, willing him to continue. He avoids my eyes as he asks in a shaky voice, "Do you promise not to laugh or think I'm weird?" He looks at me with trepidation and I nod my head quickly. "I… um… I don't know how to say this without—"

I roll my eyes at him. I wish he'd just get on with already. I have so many questions and he seems to be avoiding them. "Just say it, Peeta! I want to know."

"Fine. Here goes nothing." He brings his hands to his face and releases a long, unsteady breath. Then he moves his fingers to his temples, rubbing them as if this conversation is already stressing him out. He nibbles lightly on his bottom lip as he looks at me again, his eyes searching mine with meaning that I'm not exactly sure of. "Please don't let this freak you out or anything—"

"Peeta! Please… just tell me. I promise I won't freak out."

I glance down at his hands and notice that they are shaking a bit. I want to reach out and stop them from doing so, but I just look away. He focuses his eyes on the steering wheel in front of him with intensity, and seems really awkward and uncomfortable all of a sudden.

I sigh heavily, starting to feel annoyed with his avoidance of my question, when finally he blurts, "Okay… well, I've… kind of had a crush on you since kindergarten." I turn to him in shock, not daring to believe my ears. My eyes are wide and my mouth is hanging slightly open in question, but I can't form words. His answer just added a million more questions to the ones I already had. He continues nervously, still not looking at me, "I've… always been sort of shy around you and never knew what to say. You're kind of intimidating, you know, and… oh god, you must think I'm a total idiot now—" He shakes his head and seems regretful and embarrassed with himself.

"No, I don't." I reassure him, finally finding my voice again; though the words sound foreign coming from my mouth. I attempt to laugh, but it comes out sounding strange. I fold my arms over my chest again and shrug my shoulders. "I might think you're a bit of an idiot for liking _me_, of all people, but other than that..."

He turns to me suddenly, taking me by surprise. I glance away instantly and feel my cheeks heat up. I find that I can't look into his eyes anymore. It just seems weird and awkward, and I feel like it just means… like it's something more than before, but I don't know what. I don't really know how to handle or think of all this new-found information. I never thought anyone could ever like me, and especially not someone like Peeta. It's unimaginable to me, and I am not quite sure if I like it or not. I won't make him feel bad about it, though, no matter how uncomfortable or confused I feel.

"I'd be an idiot_ not_ to like you," he replies adamantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look away from me again. I find myself taking furtive and timid glances at him every so often as he continues. "Anyways, I'm sorry the lunches stopped towards the end of the year. Mom caught me and gave me a good whopping for it."

As he explains, I vaguely remember Peeta coming to school with a black eye for a week or so. I just assumed he'd gotten it from playing sports or that one of his brothers played a little too roughly with him. This information makes my hatred for Mrs. Mellark a whole lot stronger. How could anyone harm or hit someone as gentle and kind as Peeta? It's like someone hitting Prim. It's senseless and unthinkable. I try my best to calm my anger as I listen to him, "I didn't really care about that, actually, but she started locking all the food up at night. I tried to sneak things into your desk when I could, because I knew you were hungry. The next year, we were in middle school and had lockers… and I couldn't sneak things to you anymore. I should have just approached you and said something, but I wasn't sure how you'd react and I didn't want to embarrass you or anything either. I'm really sorry about that. I still wanted to help you, I just didn't know _how_—"

"Don't be sorry, Peeta," I reply, cutting him off. He should not be apologizing for his generosity. I should be thanking him. He has no idea how much the gesture meant to me back then; how much it still means to me now. It made me feel like someone, somewhere, cared about me. I finally look at him again, daring myself to meet his eyes with mine. I tell him in a serious and heartfelt voice, "You _did _help me. You helped me when I needed it most, you really have no idea." He's finally meeting my eyes again, but he still looks unsure. I continue, "And you're helping me now more than you can ever imagine." My voice is becoming shaky and my face must be the color of a tomato, just like Peeta's. I still have so many questions, but I decide to ask him one that keeps coming to my mind, "I'm curious… the job at the bakery… was that your doing?"

He lets out a small laugh.

"I can't really take the credit for that. Dad sprung that out of nowhere. Not that I'm not thrilled about it—"

My eyes go wide again as I take in what he's saying. I feel self-conscious as I ask, "Does your dad know, about how you… feel? About me?"

I feel so silly even asking him something like that. And it feels unbelievably weird to ask Peeta a question involving how he feels about me. I'm not sure what to make of it all, or even how to process all of this, really. I feel like I'm in some sort of dream and that I'll wake up at any second. I still don't come close to understanding why someone like Peeta would ever like or find anything remotely interesting about me. What does he see in me that I, or anyone else for that matter, don't?

He nods in answer to my question, adding nervously and quickly, "Please don't let it make things weird between us. And don't feel obligated into liking me back, okay? I didn't tell you all of this because I expect something from you or for you to return any feelings whatsoever. I know you barely know me, and that would be way too much to expect right now. I only want your friendship… I can't tell you how happy I am just getting to talk to you finally. Getting to truly know you is more than I could have ever dreamed of. I never thought I'd work up the courage to even speak to you. Dad didn't really give me a choice though."

He looks at me questioningly and smiles shyly, and I find myself smiling back.

"Well," I tell him after a moment. "I'm glad he didn't."


	12. Confusion and Comfort

_Chapter Twelve_

**Confusion and Comfort**

**"_Butterflies can't see their wings. They can't see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well."_**

**_-Unknown_**

I don't know what to think about Peeta's confession of having a crush on me for so long.

I really had _no_ idea; wouldn't have _had_ any idea. And why would I have? He'd never given me any indication of his feelings before, and if he had, I was completely oblivious to them. Apparently, I'm pretty good at being oblivious. Prim and Gale even tried to tell me, although Gale was completely off in his assessment of Peeta's intentions. How could I not have seen it before? Maybe I just didn't _want_ to see it…

Because now that the proverbial blindfold has been lifted, I can't go back again. I can't ignore it and pretend that I don't know what I do now.

Peeta Mellark likes _me_.

_ Me_, of all people.

And I have no idea why. I am truly nothing extraordinary. I am the exact opposite; I'm not even ordinary. I'm somewhere below that. I have nothing to offer, and he has nothing to gain… and yet, he likes _me_. He wants to know me, wants to be my friend, and I have not one single clue as to _why_. It makes absolutely no sense at all. _None. _He is good looking, charming, sweet, and… he could have _anyone_ else. There are so many other prettier girls who are much more worthy of his attention and affection; attention and affection that I fear I can't reciprocate. I just _can't_. I don't know how and I'm too scared to try. I don't want to lose Peeta as a friend, and I don't want to wind up losing this job or screwing it up. Also, I know that he could never understand my life or the way I have to live. We can never have anything more than a platonic relationship. I am flattered, beyond that really, that he feels these…_ things_ for me, but I'm not sure what comes next or how I'm supposed to handle it all.

Even more than that, I don't know how to even process the information that it was him who had been leaving me the mystery lunches when I was younger. It feels so unreal, so unbelievable, and yet… it makes sense now that I think of it. The food he left me was mostly from the bakery: the sugar cookies, cinnamon rolls, cheese buns, bread for the sandwiches; I _should_ have connected the dots sooner. But, at the time, I had so many horrible things going on and stuff to worry about… I never really_ had_ a chance to even think about it or question it further. Besides, I know that I probably would have never thought it to be someone like Peeta, anyway, who is of a higher social class and never once spoke a word to me before.

I can't help feeling like I owe him; and I do. I owe him a lot for basically saving me and Prim, and he doesn't realize how much. I am so grateful and overwhelmed, but I don't know how to show it or express it.

After lunch, Peeta and I make our way to class. I sit in my assigned seat, and he in his. He glances back at me every once in a while and smiles. I smile back, feeling slightly sick to my stomach and lightheaded. I know he says that he doesn't expect more of me than friendship, and I am thankful for that, but I still feel like it's somehow expected of me after all he's admitted and has done for me. I can't give him any more though. I feel strange just thinking of it. I don't like feeling like this; I hate feeling indebted to someone.

During our last hour class, I intentionally arrive late again so I don't have to sit next to him. I just feel even more awkward and uncomfortable about all of this the more the day progresses. I avoid looking in his direction, feeling self-conscious. I can't stop thinking about everything, and I wish more than anything that I could.

I catch a ride with him to pick up Prim, and we head on to the bakery. I can tell that he's feeling just as weird as I am. He seems really shy and nervous, more so than normal, and isn't saying anything at all. His face is red and he's avoiding looking at me. I think he regrets telling me how he feels, and I don't know what to say or what to do to make him feel better about that. All I can offer him is friendship, and I don't want to hurt his feelings or make him even more uncomfortable by saying that out loud. So I don't say anything.

Once we get to the bakery, his dad takes off in kind of a hurry. I quickly change into my work clothes and meet Peeta in the back, feeling butterflies swarming in my stomach. I just want things to be normal again, and I partly wish that he'd never told me anything. I was happy living in my little oblivious bubble.

"I guess I'll show you how to decorate today," he mumbles quietly, looking everywhere but at me. "We'll start with something simple." He reaches for a pan with six vanilla cupcakes, though none of them have icing yet. He looks at me quickly and as soon as I meet his eyes with mine, he looks away again as if I'd shot lasers with my pupils or something.

He retrieves a bowl and starts mixing things into it without speaking one word to me. I take it that he's preparing the icing, however. He grabs food coloring and adds it to the mix, and then I know my assumption is correct. The white icing turns a soft sherbet orange color and he suddenly shrugs, "I figured I'd make it my favorite color."

I find myself curious and ask, "Orange is your favorite color? Any particular reason why?"

He smiles slightly, staring down into the bowl as he mixes. "It reminds me of the sunset. I've always loved that part of the day; when everything is starting to calm and the sky is painted with so many beautiful, vivid colors. It's like a promise that no matter how bad the day has been, there's still hope that tomorrow can be better." He sighs and shakes his head as if embarrassed for sharing too much. He shrugs again, "There's just something really magical about the sun setting."

I nod, but I don't say anything. Truth be told, I haven't really paid any attention to a sunset in a very long time. I tell him, to alleviate the silence, "Mine's green."

"Green?" He looks up at me and raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yeah. It reminds me of the woods. I feel safe there," I tell him without thinking. My face heats up as I realize what I had just said. "I mean, it's just nice… to be surrounded by nature, you know."

He nods and doesn't say anything else.

Suddenly, he lifts his head as if listening intently to something in the distance. His face instantly looks grave and he shakes his head as if not wanting to believe what he's hearing.

"What?" I ask. I strain my ears, and I think I hear what he does: A soft click-clacking on tile, headed this way.

"_Peeta_!" I hear a harsh female voice come from the store-front.

"Hide, Katniss. Now!" He tells me quickly; his eyes wide with warning and apprehension. He opens a nearby closet full of mops, brooms, and other supplies. "I'll explain later. Just stay in here for now, okay?" He looks extremely worried and nervous about something.

I do as he says without question, yet I don't have the slightest idea of what's going on. He leaves the door open a crack as he walks away to meet who ever called his name. However, he doesn't get very far at all.

I watch silently, holding my breath, as Mrs. Mellark walks hastily into the back room.

She seems to have an air of thinking she is too good to even be in the presence of other people, and the word "humble" is not in her vocabulary. She always keeps her dyed white-blond hair in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her cold, emotionless blue eyes are outlined heavily with mascara, eyeshadow, and eyeliner. Rouge and powder cake her face and cheeks, and her thin lips are globbed with lipstick that contrasts badly with her skin-tone; she makes it look even more absurd by outlining them with a dark pencil.

She thinks she is gorgeous, though, despite resembling a glamorous clown. She has all the indication of a woman who probably was a beauty in her youth, and can't, or won't, accept that she is well past her prime. Or maybe she doesn't realize it at all, I don't know. I don't understand how she can look in a mirror and like what she sees in the reflection though. She also always wears designer clothes and heels, and I find it kind of silly as we live in the middle of nowhere and no one around here really cares about that sort of thing at all.

"Peeta!" She says condescendingly. "Are you deaf?"

"No," he answers. "I was busy. I was getting ready to—"

"I don't care," she snaps viciously. I watch as she peers disdainfully into the icing bowl on the table. "Ugh… you and that god-awful orange. I swear, I'll never understand you. Anyway, have you seen your father?"

"He left a little while ago. Didn't say where he went, sorry."

She gives a frustrated sigh and glances around, her lips shriveled under her nose as if she's smelled something rotten. She taps her manicured nails on the counter. "I feel as if I'm gaining weight just standing here."

"Hmmm." Peeta shrugs, but doesn't look at her. I can tell she makes him feel nervous and skittish, and he wants her to leave quickly.

She's silent for a moment, and then I see her mouth twist into what I think is supposed to be a smile. It looks more menacing than anything though. "So where's _it_?"

"Where's what?" Peeta asks, finally looking at her.

"_It._" She raises her eyebrows as if that explains everything. He just looks confused. She rolls her eyes and explains slowly, as if Peeta is too dumb to understand her, "The trash that your father insisted on bringing the business down with. Not that I'm complaining about that. I'd love nothing more than to be rid of this disgusting hell-hole."

Peeta suddenly looks angry and replies evenly with, "She's _not_ trash."

I cover my mouth to stop the surprised gasp from escaping me.

They're talking about me.

I narrow my eyes and listen intently to their exchange, trying not to take Mrs. Mellark's insults personally.

"If it comes from a garbage can, it surely _isn't_ a rose," she answers flippantly.

"Katniss is amazing, she's _really_ wonderful, and you shouldn't—" Peeta starts defensively, but his mother cuts him off before he can finish.

"I swear to G_od_, Peeta, if you start dating that _dirt mop_ and bring more shame to this family than you already _have_," she threatens coldly with a sneer gracing her thin, overly penciled lips. "I _will_ disown you as a son."

"I kind of thought you already had."

"Disappointment doesn't equal disownment," she answers back with a roll of her eyes. "Not _yet_, anyway."

"How is it any different?"

"You won't be living under the same roof as those of us who care about keeping our reputations untarnished. In other words, you will go live with the filth you enjoy so much," she explains casually, with no emotion in her face at all. She sighs and studies her nails in a bored manner. "Why can't you just be more like your brothers? They want to make something of themselves. Like Appam, going off to college and—"

"And partying. That's _all_ he wants to go for—"

She continues as if Peeta hadn't even said a word. "And Proja, with his talent at sports. He's _sure_ to get a scholarship with it, winning all those awards and getting so much recognition. And then… there's _you_," she says "you" as if it's some disgusting word in her mouth. "You don't even _try_, Peeta. You'll never be anything. You'll be stuck in this bakery day-in and day-out, like your moronic father; going nowhere and getting fat and dumb, while feeling sorry for the riff-raff dregs of society. You're such a total waste. Both of you."

Peeta is silent for a minute or so. I can see from my hiding place that his face is red and his hands are shaking, but he doesn't seem surprised by what she's saying to him. Which leads me to believe that this isn't the first time that she's said these things or made him feel this way, or even that it's a rare occurrence. It breaks my heart to see him being talked to and treated like he's worthless. How can his own mother not see how truly wonderful he is? I don't get it at all.

And, yeah, he's _not_ like his brothers at all; she's totally right about that. He's so much _better_ than they are. They don't even compare to him in the slightest way. I only hope that he doesn't think or feel that he's in any way less than they are, because the opposite is true. Mrs. Mellark is completely wrong, and I hope he's aware of how much.

I hold my breath as he starts to speak again.

"Dad _isn't_ fat, and he seems to take care of you_ pretty_ well," Peeta defends with a shaky voice. I can see that his nostrils are flared and his eyes are narrowed with resentment. I've never seen him angry like this, and it's very unsettling. It's so opposite of his usual gentle and kind nature, and I don't like it one bit. "Also, Katniss is a _way_ better person than you ever _thought_ abou—"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before his mother slaps him as hard as she can across the face. The sound of her hand against his flesh makes me jump, and I'm surprised at how much my adrenaline is pumping. My hands are shaking, my heart is racing, and I feel angry tears coming to my eyes. It's like seeing Snow being violent with Prim; it's unnecessary, unthinkable, and unethical, and it should never even have to be a reality. I just want to confront Peeta's mom and defend him, but I know it would do no good and would probably make things worse for him later.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ compare me to that _thing_ again. Do you hear me?" She glares at him hatefully, her hand pulled back in threat of another smack. She raises her eyebrows at him for an answer.

Peeta is silent again for a moment, his eyes downcast and sullen. Suddenly, he shakes his head and a look of determination comes to his face as he meets her eyes again.

"She's not a _thing_. She's _beautiful_. _You_, on the other hand—" He starts to defend me. I feel like telling him there's no need for it. Just let her insult me and then let her leave. I don't want to see him get hurt or belittled anymore. I'm not worth it and it obviously won't change her mind any.

She slaps him again with full force, and his hand goes to his cheek.

"You idiotic, pointless _creature_," she starts in a spiteful, clipped tone. "Do you _really_ want to push me further?"

"What more can you do?" Peeta retorts challengingly and meaningfully. "Take away my other leg?"

And then there's a flurry of hands hitting skin as she starts to slap him multiple times in the face while angrily telling him, "I told you to never speak of that _ever _again! _You_ were in the way, you're _always_ in the way, and I will _not_ have you lay the blame on me for that again!"

I feel a tear run down my cheek, and my hand goes to my mouth to subdue any sound from escaping. I feel like punching her straight in her overly done-up face and ripping the salon-styled hair out of her head. I can't stand watching her treat him like this. She's cruel and horrible, and I find myself wondering what she did to him that made him lose his leg. Whatever it was, I know she's totally at fault and I hate her for it. I have no doubt in my mind that it _wasn't _a so-called "accident."

Mrs. Mellark finally steps back from him, straightens her clothes, and sticks her frigid nose in the air. She looks down at her hand with disgust and shakes it as if to bring feeling back into it. "Why do you make me do these things, Peeta? Now my hand hurts, all thanks to you. Ugh." She turns away and vainly looks into a mirror, casually fixing any make-up that might have smeared in the bullying of her youngest son. "Anyway, I'm leaving now. If you see your fruit of a father, tell him I'm off to the spa resort for the rest of the week. Try not to screw things up too much when I'm gone. Oh, and Peeta?"

"What?" He asks in a hoarse, dejected voice.

"I meant every word I said, and don't you forget it."

I close my eyes and bite my lip, trying to calm myself down before I see Peeta again. I listen intently to the click-clacking of her high-heels as she makes her way through the store-front and then out of the bakery completely. Just as it is when Snow leaves, the air becomes instantly lighter and I feel like I can finally breathe.

I cautiously peer out at Peeta. He's still standing there in the same place; his eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up in deep thought and bitterness. And despite his stocky build and medium height, he looks as vulnerable as a little child to me.

I take in a deep breath and finally make my way out of the closet. He looks over at me quickly; his eyes going wide as if suddenly remembering I was there the whole time. He instantly looks mortified and apologetic.

"Katniss, I am _so_ sorry you had to witness that," he says softly. He glances away and runs his fingers through his hair, looking agitated.

I don't say anything. I don't _know_ what to say. I just want to comfort him and make him feel better in any way I can; the way I do with Prim after Snow is harsh with her. Without thinking or over-analyzing, I do what I feel is needed and necessary—I wrap my arms around him in a warm embrace, resting my head against his chest. I can hear his heart beat rapidly beneath my ear, and feel his entire body trembling heavily as I envelop him.

After a moment, I feel his strong arms encircle me as well. His hand gently rubs my back in small circles as he rests his cheek on the very top of my head.

And I find it odd—interestingly so—how it doesn't feel weird or uncomfortable at all. In general, I'm not usually one for hugs or touching; with Prim being the only exception. I hate when Gale tries to hug me, as it makes me feel awkward and weird. And besides him, no one else has really ever tried to hug me in years, come to think of it. But right now, as I stand in Peeta's gentle embrace, attempting to comfort him, and feeling horrible for him, I find that I don't mind it so much. In fact, it feels sort of… _nice._ And I'm surprised, even more so, that I don't really want to let go. I don't want it to end. I have no idea what that means, and it's both exhilarating and scary to me.

When I finally do lean back and look up at his face, which is searching mine curiously and cautiously, I see that his cheek is reddening slightly where his mother had slapped him. It'll probably leave a light bruise, and I feel disgusted and saddened at the thought. Peeta shouldn't have to wear a reminder of his mother's horrid actions on his skin. I want it to vanish somehow, to alleviate the pain and embarrassment he must be feeling.

So, like I do with Prim whenever she has a bruise or a wound that I'd like to wish into healing quicker, I take his face into my hands and move it to the side as gently as I possibly can. He's questioning me with his eyes, but I don't answer. I don't know how to. I don't even know what I'm thinking or doing; I just _know_ I want him to feel better.

I delicately place my lips onto his soft, warm cheek; lingering on the reddened spot where his skin is sure to bruise later.

I feel my lips tingle and my heart thump like a drum against my chest as I realize what I'm doing. After a moment that seems like forever, and yet at the same time very brief, we let go of each other rather awkwardly and I avoid his eyes. I cross my arms and step back a little bit more.

I then ask quietly and timidly, "Are you all right?"

"I am now," he answers.


	13. A Tale About The Mellarks

_Chapter Thirteen_

**A Tale About The Mellarks**

**_"The thing about life is that you must survive. Life is going to be difficult, and dreadful things will happen. What you do is move along, get on with it, and be tough. Not in the sense of being mean to others, but being tough with yourself and making a deadly effort not to be defeated."_**

**_—Katharine Hepburn_**

"Your mom is a really horrible person," I reply quietly. I'm still unable and unwilling to look at his face, and I know mine is the color of a ripe tomato. I've never kissed a boy, even if it was _only _on the cheek, in my entire life. I'm not sure what to think, what to feel, or what to say. It _definitely_ didn't feel the same as kissing Prim, though, that's for sure. I try to push these thoughts and my prior actions to the back of my mind, however, and focus on what's more important. "I can't believe she said all those mean things to you or that she _hit_ you—"

"Never mind me. I'm sorry you heard her speak that way about _you_. I never wanted you to hear those things. I'm so sorry, Katniss," Peeta says in a serious tone. I glance at his face and see that he's frowning at me in an apologetic way. It makes me feel sick to my stomach that he's trying to make amends for something his mother did. It wasn't in _any_ way his fault and he shouldn't feel guilty about it.

"Don't you _dare_ feel bad about what she said about me, Peeta," I tell him sternly, raising my eyebrows to make a point. "I don't care about any of that, anyway. It's nothing that I haven't heard before from other people. And you _don't_ have to take up for me, either—"

"Yes, I do!" He cuts me off before I can finish. I sigh and look away as he continues, "I'm tired of her saying such mean things about you, because _none_ of it's true! And I'm tired of everyone _else_ treating you badly, too. It's all just ridiculous and you _really_ don't deserve _any_ of it!" He pauses for a moment and then I feel his hand on my cheek. His fingers lightly grace my skin, gently bringing my face forward so I'll look at him. My skin breaks out into goosebumps, and my stomach does a flip as I bring my eyes to his again. They're such an intense blue that I find I can't breathe at all and I want to look away again, but I don't. "Katniss, they're _all_ wrong, every one of them. And I don't understand why they can't see what I do."

I bite my lip, but I still keep eye contact with him. I let out the breath I'd been holding. I find myself curious and a little impulsive. I can't seem to find my voice, though, so I whisper, "What _do_ you see?"

He smiles shyly at me and his fingers trace the outline of my jaw before tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I feel my heart race, knowing that this isn't exactly behavior that two friends, or coworkers, normally share. There's definitely something more going on here and I don't know what to make of it, and I'm not sure if I want it to stop or if I want it to continue. I'm starting to feel panic rise throughout my whole being and I look away rather quickly, not being able to bear his penetrative gaze any longer. It makes me feel self-conscious and vulnerable, like he can read my mind or see into my soul with them. I'm about to tell him to forget what I had just asked, when he starts to speak again.

"I see..." Peeta starts suddenly, his voice thoughtful and reflective, "perfection."

His hand is still on my face, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone, and I'm sure he can feel the heat radiating off of me. I don't know what to think of his words, but I know I don't believe them. Finally, I gather my senses once again and bat his hand away from my face. I roll my eyes and, with an unbelieving tone, I tell him, "Whatever, Peeta! I'm definitely _not_ perfect. I'm probably the _least _perfect person _ever_—"

"Let me finish?" Peeta interjects. "Please?"

I shake my head and shrug, then gesture for him to continue. I still won't look in his direction, however, and keep my eyes planted firmly on the bakery floor. I know he's just going to say something ridiculously sweet and uncalled for again, and I'm going to feel even more unworthy and awkward.

"I didn't mean perfection as in no flaws," Peeta states factually. I look at him with narrowed eyes, wondering where he's taking this. This time, he glances away from me. "We _all_ have flaws, and without them we'd be boring. I meant... perfection, as in I wouldn't change a _thing_ about you. I know you've heard people say ignorant and untrue things about you over the years, and you've probably started to believe them. You really shouldn't, though. And just so you know, I think you're a really beautiful person — inside and out."

I snort and roll my eyes. "You obviously don't know me very well, then."

"Maybe not as much I could, but I'd like to." He glances back at me again, looking sheepish but challenging. "I really don't think you'll change my mind, though. And I already _know_ I'm right about you being beautiful on the _outside_…."

"Yeah? Well, you _really_ need to get your eyes checked. I think you may be going blind," I attempt to joke, but my voice comes out shaky. My whole body is trembling; I feel overwhelmed with everything he's saying. I don't know what he expects from me and I'm not sure how to accept his compliments. I'm really not used to receiving them at all.

"I visit an eye doctor every six months. My vision is 20/20," Peeta answers. He smiles and winks at me. "When was the last time you got _your _eyes checked, Katniss?"

The answer is, of course, before Snow. Anyway, I feel like this conversation is leading us down a path we really shouldn't be exploring at all. I'm aware of Peeta's feelings towards me, but I still don't come close to understanding them. And I never thought he'd be this… _forward_ about them either. I just feel very seriously confused as I've never had to deal with this sort of thing before; I really don't know how to handle it all, or even what I want, or what I feel.

"Never mind that," I retort quickly and move over to the counter, where the icing and cupcakes are still waiting. I attempt to change the subject, "Are you going to show me how to decorate these or what?"

Peeta makes his way over, grinning widely. He then walks around me, standing a little too close for comfort. Leaning down next to my ear, he remarks quietly in a final, amused tone, "You'll always be beautiful to me, whether you agree with me or not. You're just going to have to deal with it, somehow." I feel his breath, light as a feather, on my earlobe and it sends a chill down my neck and spine. I can't help but rub my ear against my shoulder as a reaction to get the ticklish sensation to go away. I feel instantly embarrassed by it, though, and I step away to put more distance between us.

I'm not even going to reply to that statement. I clear my throat nervously, making sure to avoid his eyes again. "Seriously, can we get on with the decorating now?"

"Sure thing, m'lady," Peeta replies confidently and happily.

I then realize that he's either forgotten or doesn't care how his mother had treated him just moments before. How does he do it? Whenever Snow is vindictive towards me, it seems like it takes forever for the hateful thoughts in my head to go away and for my mood to improve; with him, it's like the click of a light switch. Just how long has she been like this to him? His whole life? The thought of it makes me feel horrible. Is he really so used to it that he can just brush it aside, without a second thought, as if it never happened at all?

Anyway, I want to retort that I am _not_, in fact, "his lady" but I can't seem to let myself bring him down; not after earlier and what I had witnessed. Peeta obviously gets put down enough as it is by his own mother, and he really doesn't need me doing it too. I'm sure if he got turned down by someone as inadequate as me, that would be a terrible blow to his ego. Maybe _that's_ why he likes me…? Maybe he doesn't think he can do any better, by how his mother treats him?

_That_, at least, I can make some sense out of.

Peeta pours and scrapes the icing out of the bowl into a see-through plastic bag. He then attaches a pointed nozzle to the end of it. I watch him closely; it all looks simple enough. However, my mind is everywhere else besides decorating cupcakes. I really find myself wondering about certain things that his mother had said to him, and also of things he had said….

"Now, we just lift this up and steady the nozzle," he explains to me. "Then you make sure you have a good grip on everything. Now start on the outer part first, since this is just going to be your average cupcake, and squeeze down steadily on the bag of icing as you go. Not too quickly, though. Then you just twist it around like this, getting smaller and smaller towards the top—"He moves the nozzle around in circles in one fluid motion, until it tapers off in the center. "And you're done. It's simple enough. You want to give it try?" He looks at me excitedly and, even though I feel nervous about it, I nod.

He hands me the icing bag and I attempt to do what he had showed me, but the icing comes out way quicker than I expect. It ends up as a sloppy mess on one of the cupcakes, and also part of the pan and counter-top. I frown and look over at him accusingly. I mutter, feeling discouraged, "You made it _look_ easy."

He shakes his head, smiling, "It's not hard once you learn how. You'll get the hang of it in no time. Here, maybe I can help—" He places his hands over mine and I suddenly let go of the icing bag, letting it drop onto the counter with a thud. I then place my hands behind my back and look away.

"Really, Katniss?" I hear Peeta question me with a hint of humor. "I thought we moved past the hand thing already."

"You guessed wrong, then," I reply stubbornly.

"Just let me help?" He asks me, his voice quieter and more sincere. "I just want to make it easier for you. Also, I can't have all the cupcakes being destroyed. I really need to teach you this."

I sigh, feeling my face heat up at the thought of his hands on mine again, but I know what he's saying is true. I pick the icing bag up again, the way I did before, and turn to him. "Fine. Whatever. Let's get this over with."

I hold my breath as his hands cover my own. They're warm and smooth against mine; he has a firm, yet gentle grip over them as he starts to guide me. "Just take it slow," he tells me in a voice just above a whisper, "Don't squeeze the icing all at one time, just slow and steady, like this—" He shows me by clasping his hand tighter around mine, therefore making my hand do the same to the bag of icing. He moves my other hand with his near the tip of the nozzle, in a steady circle, as the icing comes out. With my hands within his, the cupcake is finished perfectly.

Peeta lets go of me and stands back. I finally let myself breathe again as I look over at him curiously. He raises an eyebrow and smiles back at me. "See? You just decorated your first cupcake with ease."

"Yeah, with _your_ help."

"Try again, by yourself," he instructs. I do as he says and, while it's not perfect, it's _much _better than before. I'm starting to feel a little more confident about it all. "You're getting the hang of it, I knew you would! Now just keep practicing on the others."

I continue on to the rest and neither of us says anything else for a few minutes. I find that I can't take the silence anymore, and that I really need the answers to some things that just won't leave my mind peacefully.

"Peeta?" I start quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I know it's not really any of my business or anything, but I can't stop thinking about it—"

"About what?" He asks in concern. "You can ask me anything, Katniss."

I sigh a bit loudly, daring myself to ask but not wanting to seem horrible for doing so. Finally, I just blurt out, "How _exactly_ did you lose your leg?"

He's silent for a moment. I feel my stomach tie in knots. Great, obviously I've offended him. I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to answer when he asks quietly, "The cover story or the real one?"

I look over at him and frown, and he glances back at me wistfully. I then shake my head, feeling angry all over again as my suspicions are pretty much confirmed.

"_She_ did this to you, didn't she? And it _wasn't_ an accident—"

"Well, I can't _prove_ it wasn't," Peeta replies sarcastically. He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "But… well, you _saw_ how she reacted. And she has never _once_ apologized for it, so what am I supposed to think?"

"What did she _do_ to you?" I ask as calmly as I can, placing the icing down. I turn and give him my full attention.

He looks away and runs his hand through his hair, looking slightly nervous. "I was putting gasoline in the mower," he starts and narrows his eyes, as if it hurts to even remember, "I had earphones in, listening to music. I guess I just sensed, you know, that something wasn't quite right. I jumped out of the way as quickly as I could, but my leg was still in the way."

He releases a ragged breath before continuing. I can see that his hands are starting to shake again, "At first she said that she didn't see me, but I had an orange shirt on. I was in plain view, and she knew it. Then she says I should have heard her and got out of the way. Well, I think when you get ready to back your bulky SUV out of the drive-way, you should make damn sure that your son isn't in the way."

"She _didn't_…" My voice trails off in disbelief and I feel so hateful towards his mother that I could spit fire.

"She did. She tried to run me over with her SUV, and I guess I'm lucky that I only lost my _leg_," Peeta replies a little morbidly, swallowing loud. "The doctors tried to save it, but it was hopeless. Everything below my knee had been crushed to tiny fragments."

My hands go to my mouth, imagining the horror and pain he must have felt. "Oh my god, Peeta! That must have been hell—"

"It was. The pain was unimaginable… I never want to feel anything like it ever again," he agrees, finally meeting my eyes. I can see the tragedy in him as he tells me everything. I know that there isn't anything I can do to take these heartbreaking memories away from him, but I wish I could. I just want him to forget about them somehow. "Like I said, she never apologized either. It was apparently all my fault. I really think that she wanted me dead."

"Surely not!" I reply adamantly. I refuse to believe that anyone, especially his own mother, would want him not to live. "She might have a horrible personality, but I doubt she could _ever_—"

"She's said it before," Peeta cuts me off quietly. "She's said it all the time since I was old enough to even remember, that she wished I'd never been born. And even after everything, she sometimes says that she wished it had been more than my leg…." He rubs his eyes and walks off, placing some ingredients on a shelf.

I turn away, feeling unsettled and unsure of what to think of what he had just told me. I believe him, definitely, but I can't imagine why his mother would feel so disdainful towards him. He's everything anyone could ever want in a son: he's sweet, polite, handsome, talented… the list goes on and on. How can she treat him this way?

All I do know is that I _hate_ her. I hate her as much as I hate Snow.

"Does your dad know?" I ask after a moment.

"Not the full story," he answers, walking back over to me. "I really think it'd be too much for him to deal with. I just watch my back—"

"You have to tell him, Peeta!" I cut him off loudly. His eyes go wide in surprise at my outburst and he stops in his tracks. I say a bit quieter. "You _can't_ just let her get away with it."

He bites his lip and raises his eyebrows meaningfully. "It's… a bit more complicated than you think…."

"How so?" I know I'm being way nosy, but he told me this much and he can't just leave me without unanswered questions now.

"Let's sit down, okay?" He walks off to the side of the room, where an old dining room booth seat is located. I follow him without a word. When we're both settled in, he turns to me and asks, "Promise me you won't repeat this to anyone, not even Prim?"

I narrow my eyes in confusion, but I nod. He looks away and leans back onto the seat.

"My mom… well, she comes from a very wealthy family. I'm not talking _thousands,_ Katniss; I'm talking _millions._ They've never really been big on feelings or love; they're all pretty cold and distant. My mom is a perfect example of this. Sure, she cares about my brothers, but only because she thinks they'll make her look good in some way. It's always about her, you see, and it always has been.

Anyways, she's always been used to being spoiled and getting what she wants all of her life. My dad… he was pretty good looking when he was younger, he played on the football team and was generally popular and outgoing, and I guess she decided that she wanted him. She knew another girl loved him and was getting ready to tell him. My dad told me that he really loved her too; she was his best friend since childhood. Mom loves competition and winning more than anything, though. And I'm not really excusing my dad's behavior here, but my mom used to be really pretty when she was younger and, well, I'm not sure of all the details, but they slept together," Peeta looks at me and raises his eyebrows meaningfully and, with a tiny hint of humor, he says to make it clear, "I mean, they did _more _than just sleep."

I feel a little embarrassed to be reminded of our earlier miscommunication, but I listen without a word as he continues with his story.

"Next thing my dad knows, she's pregnant and she's demanding that they get married. And, well, you _know_ my dad. Of course he'd do the honorable thing and take responsibility for his actions. Plus, it was a different time back then; you didn't just get a girl pregnant and leave her to deal with it. Besides, she also threatened that her father would do something drastic if he _didn't_ marry her. So, even though he didn't love her and couldn't really stand her, they got hitched and he tried to make the best of it. She wasn't _really_ pregnant, though. He didn't know that until a few months after and it was too late by then, because by that time she actually _was_.

After they were married, and were expecting my oldest brother, my mom get a rude awakening. She had dreams of my dad becoming this famous football player and moving to a house by the beach or into a big city, but he had different plans. He always had, she just never even asked. My grandfather owned this bakery, and my dad grew up in it just like I did. He loves this place as much as I do, probably even more. He always knew that when my grandfather died that this place would be his, just like I know that this place will eventually be mine one day.

Well, needless to say, my dad refused to give up the bakery and my mom hates this place with a passion. She was able to fill my brothers' heads with how horrible and embarrassing this place would be to own and work in, and how it's beneath them, but she could never fool me. I loved baking from a really young age and I loved being here with dad, helping out. So she never did like me because of that. And also because I was supposed to be a girl, but that's a different story entirely."

Peeta lets out a hollow laugh as he looks over at me. I've been biting my lip and listening so intently, that I had almost forgotten where I was. I don't know what to say, but luckily I'm saved from having to find words as he starts to speak again.

"She's been pestering him to retire for years, to just sell this place, and move off from here with her. He won't, though. He never would. But she blames _me_ for it. She thinks that because I help with the bakery, and since this place will be passed down to me, that I'm the reason he won't let this place go. I'm the reason she can't have the life that she wants, why she can't get her way… and that's why she'd want to run me over with her SUV."

"Why doesn't your dad just divorce her?" I ask him abruptly, my voice quivering with anger.

He smiles at me a little sadly. "Because, like I said, her family is rich and she's vindictive. She could hire the best lawyers in the country if she wanted. She'd take everything my dad has, and especially anything he loves. She'd make sure she got this bakery above anything else, and she'd probably torch it to the ground and laugh. Also, my dad never wanted to lose his children and have them brought up in a loveless home. She would have taken us, too, just because she knew it'd hurt him. And she and her side of the family don't believe in divorce. She feels that it's weak and that it'll ruin her reputation. I think she does a fine job of that herself, though, but she's always been blind to her own faults. Anyway, why would she get divorced when she never has to work, and Dad makes sure she has everything she ever wants in order to keep her happy and quiet?"

I suddenly let out a breath that I realize I'd been holding for a long time. My hands are shaking with adrenaline and I feel as hopeless for Peeta as I do when it comes to Snow.

"You and your dad don't deserve to have to live with someone like her," I reply quietly and sincerely. "And I'm glad your dad didn't give up the bakery and that you're not like your brothers. Don't ever listen to your mom. She's wrong about _everything_—"

"Oh, I know," he says. He then looks at me somewhat timidly. "She only insults what she finds to be a threat."

"I really hate her, Peeta," I say, feeling every fiber in my being seethe with rage towards her and how she treats him and Mr. Mellark. "I just don't understand how a person can be that way at all."

"Me neither. She's my mom, and I hate to say it, but I don't really feel anything for her." He looks away and his face noticeably changes color when he continues, "Dad always told me to be smart and not to repeat his mistakes. He said that if I ever decide to give my heart to a girl, to make sure that she's the complete opposite of my mother in every way, and also that she loves this bakery as much as I do."

I look away, feeling weird all of a sudden and slightly defensive. I don't like hearing Peeta talk about giving his heart to a girl or of her loving this bakery as much as him. I feel a little threatened, because if he ever finds this girl, I know I will be out of the picture and I don't ever want to leave here. Still I keep my feelings to myself and turn to him again, "Well, good luck with that. After everything you've been through, you deserve happiness, Peeta."

"Thanks," he replies, smiling back at me. "And so do you."


	14. Something New

_Chapter Fourteen_

**Something New**

"_**She was beautiful, in the quiet way that lonely, unnoticed people are beautiful to those who notice them." **_

—_**Jedediah Berry **_

I don't say anything in reply to Peeta's wish of happiness for me. I simply nod slowly, trying to keep my face passive, as he continues.

"The thing is, though, I kind of _have _given my heart to a girl already," Peeta tells me. He's looking at me a little strangely, as if his words are weighted with some sort of meaning I'm supposed to get. "It's been hers for a long time, but I don't think she even realizes…."

I feel my stomach twist in knots. Why is he telling me this? I don't want to know about his romantic interests; they don't involve me in any way, and it makes me uncomfortable. It's just not a topic I think about much or ever really discuss. After all, it isn't like I have a lot of female friends… and Gale isn't exactly one to discuss matters of the heart with.

I cast my eyes to the side, avoiding his gaze, and ask in a small voice, "Does she like the bakery? Because that's kind of a big deal, right?"

"I'm pretty sure she does. Her smile seems to brighten up the place as soon as she walks in the front door." I'm not looking at him, but I can hear the smile in his voice as he talks about this girl. I'm guessing I haven't seen her yet and part of me wishes that I never have to. Still, I have to ask to know for sure.

"Have I seen her yet?" I ask casually. "Has she come in while I've been here?" I stare down at the floor, where my feet can't seem to stay in one spot from all the anxiety I feel. I don't know why I'm like this or why I'm being nosy about things. I barely even know Peeta; it shouldn't matter to me at all if he "gives his heart" to some girl I don't know. She's obviously really pretty and nice; she's probably a lot more worthy than I am. Not that I've even considered being worth anything, anyway.

He's silent for a moment, then releases a small laugh as if he's happily amused about something. I look over at him and scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion. What is so funny about my question? I don't think it's very humorous at all. He answers with a nod, "Oh, yes. Yes, you certainly have seen her. Many times."

"Then why haven't you introduced us?" I question in a somewhat accusatory tone. I frown at him, but he just grins wider. "Does she even _know_ you like her?"

"I didn't think it was…uh… _necessary _to introduce you," he answers, shrugging. He bites his lip to keep from laughing, then continues, "I had just assumed you'd figure it out on your own. And, I'm guessing she doesn't know at all. Though, I thought I was being pretty _obvious_—"

My eyes go wide in realization as I think of the only girl it can be. It all makes sense! She came in the first night, and I _have_ seen her many times like he said. It was only for a few minutes, but Peeta seemed really chummy with her; just like he is at school. And, really, she'd be perfect for him. "Oh! I think I know who you're talking about now…."

He raises his eyebrows at me and asks in an astonished voice, "Really?"

"You should just tell her," I advise. I turn my body towards him, tucking a foot beneath my lap. At least I know with this girl, I will still be able to work in the bakery. I feel a little more relieved at that. I meet his eyes with mine. "I think Delly would be pleased to know how you feel about her—"

"Oh god!" Peeta shakes his head and laughs. He sticks his tongue out as if the thought disgusts him. "I wasn't talking about _Delly_, Katniss! She's like a… a _sister_ or something."

I narrow my eyes at him a bit angrily. I didn't think the thought was that out of the ordinary, really. Delly would be a nice girl for Peeta. But she's probably not good enough for him; I bet it's one of the popular, pretty girls. I know he'd have no problem snagging one of them if he tried. I feel nervous all over again.

I say a little defensively, "Whatever. You should just tell the girl then. I don't know why you're telling me all of this, anyway." I roll my eyes and look away.

"I thought I already did," Peeta replies with an exasperated sigh. I look back at his face, which is now a very dark shade of pink. "And I'm trying to right now."

"No, you're not," I retort. I'm starting to get annoyed and I wish he'd just let the subject drop. "It's only us here."

Peeta bites his bottom lip and then raises his eyebrows to make a point. "_Exactly_."

I close my eyes and rub them with my thumb and index fingers. He's talking in riddles and I wish he'd just spit it out already. I am not going to play guessing games over what girl he has feelings for. Aside from the threat of whatever impact it'll have on my job, I just don't care.

"Exactly _what_, Peeta? You're not making any sense," I mumble haughtily. "Look, can we just get back to—"

"Katniss," he interrupts me in a serious voice. I open my eyes and look at him in a bored manner. "What did I tell you in the car earlier today? Do you even remember?"

I shrug, but I don't reply. I know Peeta said he had a crush on me, but I don't for one moment think it's anything more than some childish, superficial thing. I know I am not this girl he is talking about; there's no way Peeta would want to "give his heart" to me. We barely know each other and I am not that important, honestly. Besides, we're from two different worlds; worlds that don't usually mix. And I am sure he's aware of that.

"You _really_ don't believe anyone could ever like you," Peeta asks in a quiet, wistful, and heartfelt voice, "do you?"

I shrug once more, but I keep my eyes on the ground. I feel his fingers, like soft velvet, under my chin as he tries to get me to face him. Feeling I have no other choice, I meet his eyes with mine again.

My heart seems to be beating a million times per minute.

I answer him honestly, "Not really. I don't care, though. I'm better off—"

"Well, I do."

"You what?"

"I like you."

I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't speak.

I can only look at him in shock and disbelief. I'm not the girl he's talking about, surely? There's just no way. The question must be in my eyes because he continues.

"The girl I'm talking about is _you_, Katniss," Peeta tells me with a shy smile. His hand cups the side of my cheek and jaw. His fingers lightly move along my skin, causing chills to run down my face and neck, down my spine, and to the rest of my body. I'm not sure what to make of this. I have no idea what is going on at all. "Like I said, I _thought_ it was pretty obvious; especially after what I told you in the car…."

I shake my head and find the ability to speak again, though my voice comes out a little more high-pitched than normal, "Not to me."

"Trust me, I know," he tells me in amusement. "I really do, though. Like you, I mean. Quite a bit."

I feel awkward and self-conscious all of a sudden. I don't know what to say to that. What_ is_ there to say? I just feel confused and perplexed. What am I supposed to do now? I haven't got a clue. I guess I'll approach this rationally and, really, I need answers. He can't just spring this on me without some sort of explanation.

"Why? I'm nothing special—"

"I beg to differ."

"Peeta, really. You could have _anyone _else—"

"I don't want anyone else," he tells me sincerely, his voice quiet and tender. "I want you, if you'll allow it."

I shake my head again. None of this makes sense, and he's not making anything any clearer for me. Besides, I don't know the first thing about dating or boyfriends... or being a girlfriend. The very thought of it all just makes me overwhelmed.

"I…" I start and hesitate, not being able to think clearly. I finish lamely with, "I don't know what to say."

His hand drops from my face; it feels warm and tingly where it had been.

"I know this is sudden, Katniss. I'm sure you're confused about everything and, truthfully, I really don't know what in the world I'm doing right now. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. I know earlier I said that you shouldn't feel obligated to be with me, and I meant that. But it doesn't mean that I don't want to be with you or that I don't wish that you'd at least give me a chance to make you happy. Because I _do_ think we could make each other happy. Honestly, I've felt happier in these last few days, being around you, than I have in _years_—"

"Peeta—" I try to argue, but he looks at me as if asking to continue. I sigh and decide to let him say what he wants, feeling guilty and curious. Besides, I really don't know what to say anyway.

"I know we both have secrets and we've been hurt. I also know that you don't trust me well enough to tell me anything at this point, and I completely understand that. I don't expect it right now. But for me? It's a bit strange because, though we only _just_ starting talking to each other, I feel like I can tell you anything. I mean, I've already told you things that no one else knows, or ever will. I just really feel like you understand. I feel like I've known you forever—"

"But you don't. You _don't_ know me," I interject.

"But I _want_ to. I want to know everything about you. Like I told you before, I've had a thing for you since _kindergarten_; since I was six years old, Katniss. You've always stuck out in a crowd to me. I know you might think it's weird, but I feel a kind of connection to you that I've never felt with anyone else before."

"But… _why_?" I ask quietly, my head filling up with a million questions. My whole body is shaking. I feel like I'm in some sort of dream or a parallel universe; these things just _don't_ happen to me. "I really don't understand."

"I don't know _why_," Peeta replies, shrugging. He smiles at me and his eyes seem such a bright, vivid blue that they almost glow. "I just know how I feel about you; how I've _always_ felt for you."

"Why are you telling me all of this now?" I question, narrowing my eyes at him accusingly. "You've had all these years. Were you too embarrassed of me—?""

"No!" He cuts me off, looking indignant. "I'd _never_ be embarrassed of you. If you were mine, I'd want everyone to know it. I'd be honored, really. I guess I was just shy… I didn't know how to approach you. You're way prettier than you think, and you're really _very_ intimidating."

"Whatever, Peeta. Then why are you the only one to ever tell me?"

"Because girls are jealous of you, so why would they tell you? And guys are intimidated by you, so they put you down to impress the girls they know they can get. It's kind of an endless, idiotic cycle."

"Yeah. Right. And me being poor has nothing to do with it," I reply dryly and sigh. I want to believe everything he is telling me, but Peeta is nice. He'll say sweet things to make me feel better about myself; it doesn't mean he's speaking the truth, though.

He shakes his head and raises an eyebrow at me as if to scold.

"You're way too hard on yourself, you know that? And I don't care about how much money your parents have; it really doesn't matter at all. I know what you're worth to me," Peeta answers. Before I can pull away or object, he gathers my hands in his and rubs the tops of them with the very tips of his thumbs. "And I value you more than any amount of money. Besides, if you were mine, I'd make sure you never went without. That's not to persuade you; it's just a fact. I'd treasure you."

My throat is dry and I'm sure he can feel my hands shaking; they're also becoming a little sweaty from nerves. My mind is reeling with all that he is telling me. Why is he saying all these endearing things, and why does he feel this way about me? I don't deserve it. I don't expect it.

I'm just totally, undeniably confused about everything.

And I'm not ready for this.

"You can do better than me, Peeta."

"Look, if you're not interested or attracted to me, I understand. It was worth a shot. Not many girls would consider dating a guy with a missing leg—" He starts and looks away from me in a dejected way.

"That has _nothing_ to do with it!" I quickly cut him off. It honestly never crossed my mind about his leg. "I couldn't care less about that. It's not your fault and you shouldn't feel bad about it. I'm sure other girls feel that way, too."

"Not really," Peeta looks at me sadly. "They think it's gross and weird."

"Well, I don't."

"Yeah, but you _obviously_ have no interest in me."

"I _never _said that—"

"Then go on a date with me?" Peeta asks in a challenging way. My eyes go wide and I suddenly can't breathe. I feel backed into a corner. If I say yes, then I'll have to go on a date with him. I have no idea what that entails and it frightens me. If I say no, I will make him feel horrible and I'll feel horrible, too, because of that.

"Peeta…."

"I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend or anything _else_," Peeta tells me meaningfully, looking shy and timid. His face is very red and I'm sure mine is as well. He gently squeezes my hands in his and I look down at them. "I know you don't know me very well just yet. Just go on a few dates with me and _then _make up your mind about how you feel? That's all I ask. I won't push you into anything you don't want. If you decide you feel nothing for me, and we have no chemistry or connection, that's fine. We'll go back to being friends, no hard feelings or anything, and it won't affect your job here in any way whatsoever. I'll honestly just be happy you gave me a chance. It's better to know for sure than to wonder about what-ifs."

"I don't know," I tell him in a panicked tone. "I don't know _how_…"

"How to what?"

"How to… how to… _everything_!" I reply in frustration. "I don't know _anything _about dating and relationships. I don't know how to be a girlfriend. I've never had a boyfriend before. Hell, I've never even been _kissed_ by a boy before—"

"Really?" Peeta asks in surprise. "You've never been kissed? _Ever_?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Of course not. Who would?"

"Me," he tells me factually. "In a heartbeat, if you'd let me."

And speaking of heartbeats, mine is beating so fast it feels like it's going to explode at any moment.

I take in a deep breath as he intertwines his fingers with mine. I know I should pull away, but I can't bring myself to.

"Again, I don't understand _why_," I roll my eyes and look away. "I don't understand _you_ or _this_… or _anything_."

Peeta smiles nervously at me, his eyes questioning. "Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Kiss you."

I shrug. I don't know what to say. I'm not sure; I'm not sure about anything at all anymore.

He leans in closer. Shyly, he looks me in the eyes. I quickly avert mine, and shake my head.

"I don't know how—"

"It isn't something that requires prior experience," Peeta whispers, and he's so close now that I can feel his breath against my lips. I shut my eyes tightly, preparing myself for what's about to come next. I don't know if I want this or not, but it's obviously going to happen anyway, so I might as well get through it as quickly as possible. I can almost feel his smile as he finishes his sentence jokingly with, "Though we can always practice if it's something you'd like to perfect."

My lips are already tingling, anticipating his warm mouth on mine. I really can't believe this is happening at all. I feel like I might just die right here, either from lack of oxygen or a heart-attack… or maybe both.

All I know is that Peeta Mellark is going to be the death of me.

And I am not sure if I like it or not.


	15. Contrast

_Chapter Fifteen_

**Contrast**

**_"Without having experienced the cold of winter, one cannot appreciate the warmth of spring."_**

**_-Chinese Proverb_**

My eyes are squeezed shut and my lips are pursed tightly with apprehension as I feel Peeta moving in closer and closer, slowly invading the comfortable distance I've grown so accustomed to.

Why am I allowing this? What _exactly _is there to gain? I shouldn't even let this start between us; I _know_ I'll just get hurt in the end. I _always_ do. It's only a matter of time before Peeta realizes that he's seriously deluded in his vision of me, and that this… _thing _he wants could never work out.

Still, I can't say no to him.

How can I? I owe him so much already. I reflect upon the thoughtful lunches he left me so long ago, this job that I'm so thankful for, the rides he gives me without complaint or compensation, and, most importantly, how he treats me like I matter. Like I'm special. Like I mean _something_ to at least one person, even if that person doesn't really know me at all.

A kiss shouldn't be_ too_ much for him to ask for and, really, it's the _only_ thing I can actually offer.

I feel ferocious butterflies in my stomach and my body is trembling. I _need _to breathe.

If only I_ could_.

Suddenly, my eyes flutter open and I see that he's only a few inches away from me. I feel panic. I shake my head and try to gather my wits. I tell him in a quick whisper, "We really shouldn't, Peeta…."

His hands leave mine and move to each side of my face.

His eyes stare into my own with such intensity, such desire, that my cheeks burn warmer and I have to abruptly look down to avoid them. It makes me feel strange to see him look at me like that, and not strange in a bad way at all; strange in a confused way. When I make eye contact with him, I get the odd sensation that he can see every thought in my head, like he can read me like a book, and that he actually _wants_ to.

Looking down does me no good either, though, because I just wind up staring at his mouth—now curved up on one side in a playful half smile. He has full lips, though the bottom is much thicker than the top, and they are a perfect shade of light pink. My own feel chapped, imperfect in comparison, and unworthy to even be touched by them.

"Why not?" He asks curiously. His tongue then moves slowly over his plump bottom lip and I have to look quickly to the side, away from him, to think normally again.

What is _wrong_ with me?

I shrug half-heartedly, seemingly unable to find my voice or even think straight enough to combine words into a coherent sentence. I can't help it, I look back at his mouth again; his bottom lip is now between his teeth, but the half-smile still remains.

"Scared you might actually like it?" He teases in a joking manner.

I look into his eyes again, knitting my eyebrows together in slight indignation, but he just grins wider.

"No," I retort, though I know he has a point. "It's kind of inappropriate—"

"How?"

"It… it just _is_. We're at work—"

"I assure you, no one here will find it inappropriate."

"But what if—"

"Katniss."

"But _I really_ don't think—"

He places a finger gently to my lips, and I close my eyes as he leans down next to my ear, whispering softly and soothingly, "Shhhh. You worry way too much. Just relax."

Yet his words and actions have the complete opposite effect on me. The feel of his warm breath against my ear and neck only causes my heart to thump even quicker and an uncontrollable shiver to run throughout my body.

_It's impossible_ to relax.

I'm about to object once more, but then I'm stopped instantly by Peeta's lips on mine.

I'm too shocked to react at first; I sit there — frozen, surprised, and breathless— wondering what I'm supposed to do and why this is happening at all. Then I'm hit with the overwhelming realization that _Peeta Mellark_ is kissing me; that this is my _first_ ever kiss and I'll _always _remember that it was with him.

Finally, I take in what is happening between us.

His mouth is just like the rest of him—gentle and warm. His lips are unbelievably soft and supple, and I find that they are very easily kissable. I then wonder how many girls have kissed him; how many other girls he's kissed like this, but I let the thought go as soon as I think it. It's none of my business. It startles me how my lips mold into his without hesitation; how I kiss him back without a second-thought or over-analyzing. I might be thinking of the reactions and repercussions this action might cause and how it feels, but the action_ itself_ is without reason or control. It's like a magnetic force is involved, bringing us together, and I am powerless to stop it.

And I don't _want_ to.

My heart is beating like a drum without a specific rhythm. I'm lightheaded and my body feels different, but I don't know how to explain it. I just know I've never felt this way before in my entire life.

His mouth steadies on mine for a few seconds, and then it's gone completely.

I'm surprised that I feel a bit disappointed at the abrupt loss. While the moment of the kiss seemed to stop time, in actuality, it hadn't lasted very long at all. It was just a small kiss on the mouth, but it _felt_ like a lot more to me.

My mouth feels tingly, warm, and slightly damp from the lingering moisture of Peeta's lips, and I can't bring myself to open my eyes. It hits me like a ton of lead what had just happened between us, and now I feel self-conscious and embarrassed. What if he didn't like it? What if it wasn't as nice as I had imagined it? After all, it's not like I have any others to compare it to and he probably has dozens.

There's dead silence, aside from our nervous breathing, for a few moments and it worries me. A million negative thoughts run through my head. I refuse to open my eyes; I can't bear to see the look of disappointment on his face.

I then feel Peeta's hands slide from cupping the sides of my face and move to the nape of my neck; his fingertips glide gently into my hair. It causes a ticklish sensation to run down my back, but before I can even react, his mouth is on mine again without warning or reason.

And I don't mind at all.

This time it's slightly different, though. Before, it had been one quick kiss on the mouth; now, it's a series of lingering kisses, as if he wants to remember the feel of his lips against mine, and how they both move together so fluidly and effortlessly. Or maybe that's just my own thinking. Who _knows_ what his reasons are.

Again, seemingly way too soon, his mouth abandons mine. His hands remain where they are, though, and he leans his forehead onto my own without saying a word. My head is full of a million questions and the silence is only making things worse.

I can't take it anymore. I'm the first to speak. My voice comes out quiet, timid, "Peeta?"

"Hmmm?" He says in a far-off voice. He must be thinking about a lot of things, too, and hopefully they aren't bad.

I bite my lip, trying to find the exact words without seeming silly or stupid. I swallow nervously and ask quickly, "Was it okay?"

I open my eyes and look down at his mouth, which is now sporting a shy, yet confident smile. "Okay?" Peeta asks rhetorically. He sighs and shakes his head. I feel my stomach fill with dread and I attempt to prepare myself for the heartbreak that is sure to come with his next words.

I _knew_ he didn't like it; _I'm_ just inexperienced, so it just _seemed _different to me.…

"'_Okay' _would not be the word I'd use to describe it at all, Katniss."

I feel mortified for even asking. I _knew_ I wouldn't be good enough.

"Oh. I'm sorry—"I start in a wounded whisper, but he continues before I can get any more out.

"I'd describe it as… _extraordinary_. Amazing. Fantastic. A million times better than I could have ever dreamed or imagined."

I pull my head back from his in an instant and he does the same in turn, letting his hands drop from my face and into his own lap.

I look at him skeptically, "You're lying to make me feel good, aren't you?"

He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head with vigor.

"Not at all. I meant every word," he reassures me, then frowns all of a sudden. "The only way I'd be lying is if you didn't like it as much as I did."

My eyes go wide as I'm put on the spot. What am I supposed to say? I enjoyed it quite a bit, which surprises the hell out of me and even scares me a little. Admitting that to him would make me vulnerable and weak, like putty in his hands, though. I look away from him and shrug. "I don't think you're lying, then."

"So you did like it?"

"_Peeta_…" I warn.

"_Katniss…_" He says in the same tone.

"_Don't_ mock me."

"I'm _not_ mocking, I'm just curious—"

"Yes."

"Yes to what?" He insists on me saying it.

"Yes," I answer shyly, feeling my cheeks burning red hot. "I… I liked it. _Okay_?"

I look at him challengingly and defensively. He shakes his head in amusement and grins widely at me.

"Okay," he replies, then says after a moment, "Well, I'm glad about that."

"Why?"

"Because I definitely want to do it again in the future," he states boldly, with his cheeks glowing as red as mine.

The customer bell rings loudly, all of a sudden, in the front store-room. It startles both of us at first, but we promptly go back to work.

I find it a great relief from the awkward tension between us to focus on keeping busy once more. We don't mention it again for the rest of the night, but we both know what the other is thinking about. Every so often I chance a quick peek at him, but he catches me each time. Our eyes lock for a few seconds; he smiles shyly and sweetly at me, and I attempt to return one to him, though it comes out nervously.

Then we both look away again.

* * *

We don't really say anything on the ride home, either. Peeta makes small-talk with Prim about decorating cakes, school, and meeting his cousins who are the same age as her, but I remain silent aside from a few short replies.

I'm starting to feel wistful.

I'm sad because I feel a little hopeful, and hope is hopeless when it comes to my reality. This here, with Peeta? What happened between us at the bakery? It _isn't_ reality; not the one I'm used to. I know that. I accept it. And I hate feeling good about it because I know it won't last.

Once I step outside of this car and onto that gravel road, this fantasy world ends. The dreams of normalcy, of hope and happiness, of shy smiles and sweet kisses, they will vanish as quickly as raindrops on a summer day.

And_ that's _reality.

When we reach the drive-way, Peeta turns to me and asks with a sigh, "Still won't let me drive you all the way?"

I shake my head and answer solemnly, "Sorry."

"Don't be," Peeta replies, and reminds me like every other time before. "I won't judge you, though. I promise."

I nod, but I open my door. Prim does the same and gets out before me. I turn to Peeta and smile timidly. "Thank you, though. Good night, Peeta."

"It can't get any better than it already is," he replies sweetly, "but it'll remain good only because I'll be dreaming of seeing you again tomorrow. "

* * *

I'm back in _Hell_.

As soon as I walk through the door, I'm bombarded with hateful words and things being thrown at me. Prim cowers behind me as Snow starts to unload.

"Where the_ fuck_ have you been?"

"Work," I answer shortly, trying to keep any emotion out of my voice and off of my face.

"I'm _sure_ you were," he retorts, his voice dripping with derision. "I've been hearin' from people that you've been runnin' your fucking mouth about things you shouldn't. I've got eyes and ears _everywhere_ in town—"

My mind reels instantly. I haven't said one word about anything here, or about Snow, at all. I know better. I know that Snow is just trying to make me paranoid and get me to confess to things I didn't do, simply so he can feel warranted and justified when he hurts me.

"I didn't," I tell him quickly. "I swear, I haven't said anything."

He slaps me anyway. I bite my lip and close my eyes, willing and waiting for the stinging pain to subside.

"You _lying_—" He starts to lift his hand to hit me again.

"Don't!" Prim squeaks from behind me. I want to turn and yell at her not to say anything, to run; she should know better by now.

But I don't have the chance.

Before I can react or prevent it, he yanks her by a braid and grabs her face so strongly in his hand that I can see his knuckles turn white. He gets so close that their noses touch. "Don't you ever, ever, _ever_ fucking talk back to me! You hear me? I'll snap you like a twig."

She nods, tears starting to pour down her cheeks. This seems to make him angry, because he smacks her and bellows, "You want to _cry_? I'll _make_ you fucking cry—"

He smacks her again.

She cries louder, unable to stop, and he shoves her down. He looks like he's about to kick her, and I know he won't let up unless I distract him; unless I try to bring attention to myself. I know I will pay the price, but I don't care. I expect it. I just don't want to see Prim in pain, because that hurts worse than anything he could ever do to me.

I grab a glass plate from the kitchen counter and hurl it at him. It bounces off of his back and hits a wall, where it breaks into pieces.

This does the trick; he turns to me with pure rage and hatred radiating off of him. He picks a piece of the glass off of the floor and charges for me. I run, but I don't make it far. He pushes me up against the wall with force, knocking my breath out for a few seconds. He grabs my braid and twists it until I feel like it'll rip from my head.

Then he pushes the sharp piece of glass against my throat. I don't dare even breathe. I feel if I do, that the razor sharp edge will cut into my skin in an instant.

He gets so close to my face that I can smell the alcohol mixed with the putrid smell of his breath. "I'm getting _really_ tired of your shit." He tells me in an icily calm voice. He smiles sadistically. "Do you know how _easy_ it would be to just… get _rid _of you?"

I don't move. I don't speak. I don't even try to think.

One wrong decision and I am dead, if I'm not already.

He twists my braid a little more. "ANSWER ME!"

I nod my head as softly as I can without having the glass break the surface of my skin.

I feel the shard dig deeper; I can feel it sting and then something warm trickle down my neck. I'm guessing it's blood. "You're nothing! You are worth less to me than the fucking plate you threw at me, worth less than the fucking pieces of it even! At least _they_ can serve a purpose; I could so easily run this across your neck and end you, and _no one_ would care. Your brain-dead bitch of a mommy won't even notice you're gone, and your sissy will join you. They'd never find you. I'd tell people you ran away—"

"They'd know," I whisper quietly, knowing that if I don't try to prove to him otherwise, he might just go through with what he's saying. "I have friends that will know."

"So you _have_ been talking," he sneers, "I knew I shouldn't have let you get that fucking job!"

"I haven't said _anything_. And it's _not _the job. I hate the job, actually," I lie, knowing that if I plead with him to keep it that he'll be happy to take it away. "The Mellarks are horrible, I hate working for them—" Well_, one_ of them is, at least, that's for sure. I'm not fully lying.

"Well, you aint quittin' it, you stupid bitch! It's the only reason you're useful to me right now, and the _only_ reason you're not finding your new home in the bottom of a well."

He tosses the shard to the ground and lets go of me, surprisingly.

"When I get paid, I will give you—" He slaps me hard before I can finish.

"You _will_ give me the money. That was never a question."

He walks off and then out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I stand there in wide-eyed shock, shaking with hate, anger, and fear. I hear his truck start up and leave. I take a deep breath after I know he's gone and run to a mirror, Prim crying heavily as she follows me.

She hugs me tightly around the waist, sobbing, as I look at my reflection. He drew blood all right, but luckily it looks to be only a surface wound. It should quit bleeding soon, hopefully.

It could have been _a lot_ worse.

"Prim, you know better than to set him off like that," I reprimand her in a consoling voice, rubbing her back as she clings to me.

"I know, I know. I'm _so_ stupid!" she cries into my shirt. "I got you hurt—"

"No, you didn't," I reassure her, though it's not entirely true. "I would have gotten hurt, anyways. Are you okay?"

She looks up at me and nods, shrugging her shoulders, but she doesn't say anything. I know neither of us is okay right now.

"I hate him _so_ much," Prim says, trying to calm her breathing down. "I wish we could just leave—"

"We can't. Not yet," I tell her sadly. "I'll think of a way, though."

"Why not? Peeta will let us stay in the bakery—"

"He will _not_, Prim, and don't you dare ask!" I reply quickly.

Besides, we're both still under 18 years old. Snow will call his police friends and get Mr. Mellark and Peeta arrested for kidnapping. This is his sole threat anytime I've ever told him someone will help me. I will _not_ get them involved in this; they are too good of people to be hurt by me.

I'm not worth it.

Prim is silent for a few minutes. I slide down the wall and sit on the floor, and she follows suit. I wrap my arms around her tightly. She sighs heavily all of a sudden and looks at me with a serious expression.

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"You should just marry Peeta," she tells me factually, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. With a bitter laugh, I tell her, "Never going to happen, Prim."

"No, really. He's nice and handsome and he'd _never_ hurt you, and he'd _always_ bake you yummy things—"

She continues telling me all of the reasons why I should take her advice. I don't say anything as I let her continue to delude herself in her fantasies of happily ever after. I know things are much more complicated than that, though.

I won't let myself dream or hope.

I know better than to let myself feel happy.

Because, like some cruel twist of fate, I _always _wind up paying for it.


	16. Morning

_Chapter Sixteen_

**Morning**

**"I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort, where we overlap." - Ani DiFranco**

Prim and I wake up shortly after the sun comes up the next morning. We silently make our way down to the lake to bathe before school, as we do every couple of days while the weather is still warm enough.

Snow never did come back after he had left last night, not that that's very out of the ordinary. I'm used to him sticking around long enough to hurt us and then leaving again afterwards. Sometimes he'll be gone for only an hour or so, and sometimes it can be as much as a week or three. Either way, I'm thankful for it; for _any_ amount of time that he's away. Even _if _I know that whatever he's going off to do will likely result in the erratic behavior that will eventually be taken out on us in the end.

After we finish bathing in the lake, which is already starting to get slightly chilly from the incoming autumn air, we change into our school clothes and brush the wet tangles out of our hair. I braid Prim's long, blond tresses and then begin to start on my own. We haven't really spoken to each other at all this morning as we go about our normal morning routine, thinking solemnly about the hopeless situation we're in. Well, at least I know that's what _I'm_ doing. Prim seems more desolate than normal, too, so I'm assuming it's weighing on her mind as well. I hate thinking that, though; she's far too young to be having these worries and fears upon her shoulders already.

"So… what are you going to tell Peeta?" She asks quietly, almost whispering, as she breaks the silence. "About your neck?"

My hands steady on my hair, mid-braid. I release a long breath and look over at the lake in contemplation, watching the sun glimmer on the rippling surface. I have no idea what I'll tell him. Anyway, it's none of his business, and he _shouldn't _ask. But somehow, I know that he still will. I really _hope_ that he doesn't, though.

I turn back to Prim and shrug. "I won't tell him anything."

I unbraid my hair again. Maybe if I keep it down today, it'll hide the cut and no one will notice my neck at all.

Prim shakes her head and frowns at me.

"Well, I think you _should_. I think you should tell him about Snow—"She states factually and crosses her arms as if she's defying me.

"I'm not going to," I tell her in a finalized tone. I glance at her in warning, but she's looking the other way and doesn't notice. "And you better not either, Prim. I mean it. Not a _word_."

"Why not? He might help," she asks sadly, turning back to me. She gently touches the light bruise on her cheek, left from Snow last night, as if to make a point.

I bite my bottom lip and avoid her eyes as I reach for my backpack.

"How _exactly _can he help us?" I question her rhetorically. She's about to answer anyway, so I continue before she can. "He _can't_, Prim. So there's no use bothering him with all of this. It's not his problem to deal with."

Not to mention, or I _can't_ mention since I am sworn to secrecy, that he has his own problems and personal monster to contend with. If he's too scared and unwilling to do anything to improve his _own_ situation, there's little chance he'll do anything to help with mine. Not that I'd expect him to do anything for me anyway. He's done enough as it is.

"But he's _really_ nice—" Prim starts to argue

"And Snow is _really_ mean," I counter before she can finish. "Your point?"

"I know Peeta would try to help," she answers me with a hint of desperation in her voice. She has tears in her eyes as she practically pleads with me, "I _know _he would. He _really_ likes you. And I can tell you like him, too, Katniss. Please just tell him?"

"Prim…" I shake my head and open my backpack without another word.

She's young; she doesn't understand that things are so much more complicated than she realizes. She still believes in 'happily ever after' and 'knights in shining armor', and I'm happy she still has such a positive, fanciful outlook in contrast of our reality. But _I _can't afford to think like that. If I do, if I let myself be weak and vulnerable, this could all fall apart in an instant.

"You _do_, right?" Prim asks hopefully, a trace of a smile lightly curving her lips. "You like Peeta back, don't you? He's so—"

"I _know_, Prim. You've said it a thousand times already. I don't need another list of Peeta's good qualities, thank you. I'm well aware." I reach into my backpack and lift out a bowl, a spoon, a box of baking soda, and a water bottle.

"You didn't answer me, though," Prim replies in frustration and asks again, "Do you like him back?"

"I don't know," I retort shortly, then continue offhandedly, "It's none of your business anyway, so shut up about it." I pour some baking soda into the bowl and add water, then stir without looking up. My face is beginning to turn red just talking about him and my hands are starting to tremble. I feel utterly transparent and rather spiteful of my body as it tries its best to make me look silly.

The truth is that… _yes_, maybe I _do_ kind of like Peeta a bit. How could I not? He's sweet, thoughtful, and he definitely isn't bad to look at. _And_ he's a really nice kisser. I'm not blind to his good qualities, and I'm not really sure if he even _has_ any _bad _ones, but it doesn't matter. I'm _not_ going to let myself fall for his charm. I am not going to set myself up for hurt and disappointment, and I won't become emotionally involved.

That's not to say that if he wanted to kiss me again that I wouldn't let him. I probably would, and I'd probably enjoy it. But that's _purely _physical; I won't delude myself or expect that he wants more or has any sort of deeper feelings for me. I don't _need_ more and he doesn't need me. But if he wants to kiss me, I'll let him because it's the least I can do to show my gratitude for his kindness. I owe it to him.

And also, maybe, just _slightly_, because I kind of liked how it felt.

Once the baking soda and water is mixed to completion, I reach into my backpack and pull out two toothbrushes.

I lather some of the mix onto our brushes and we clean our teeth and tongue with it. True, it's not very good tasting or minty smelling like normal toothpaste, but it goes much further and it gets the job done; it keeps our mouths healthy and odorless, and that's all that really matters.

I hand the water bottle to Prim and she takes a gulp, then swishes and spits. Afterwards, I do the same. Then, with what's left in the bowl, we stick our hands in and lather it under our armpits as deodorant, which it also works very well for.

In the many days I spent in the library at school during lunch, I had come across books about every day, cheap household items that can be used for multiple purposes. Baking soda is one that I always try to keep on hand. It can be used for so many things: toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo (or at least it cleans the hair), laundry detergent, the list goes on and on. It definitely helps when you can't spend very much money, but you still care about hygiene. Despite whatever filthy living conditions I'm forced to contend with at home, it doesn't mean I have to like it or give into it by becoming it. I know that everything could be so much better, and it's these little efforts that make me feel like I'm at least trying to improve what I can.

I only wish that I had known about the baking soda thing a few years ago, when I was younger. Once the kids started calling me by the nickname "Neverclean," it just never went away; no matter how clean I try to stay now.

We wash our hands off in the lake and start to make our way to the bus stop. It's still a little early, but it's better to be that than late. It feels weird not having my hair in a braid. The wind keeps whipping the long strands of hair into my face and Prim keeps trying to suppress giggles because of it.

"You should just braid it, Katniss,"she tells me finally. "You can still see the cut anyway—"

"No, you can't. You just already know it's there. I'm keeping it down."

"But your hair is so long, it's really going to annoy you all day."

She's right, of course. My hair reaches the tops of my thighs and I have to take special care just to not sit down on it. However, the thought of being asked intrusive and nosy questions about my neck stops me from relieving the burden I know I'll have to put up with.

"Better than answering annoying questions all day," I answer, shrugging. I lean against a tree as we finally reach the end of the drive-way.

We stand there in silence for a few minutes, catching our breath and letting our minds wander.

"I still think you should just tell him."

"Prim. We are _not_ doing this again."

"Someone should know," she replies gravely. She seems so much older than her age when she says it that it makes my heart break a little. "He almost _killed_ you, Katniss…."

"He _always_ almost kills me—"

"Not like that. I thought he was _actually_ going to do it this time." She shakes her head and wipes away a tear that starts to crawl down her cheek. "One of these times, he just _might_…." She chokes on her words and a small sob escapes her.

I sigh heavily, feeling frustrated and hopeless, but I still want her to feel better. I give her a quick hug and rub her back soothingly.

"He won't, okay? I promise." I attempt to console her, though I'm aware I'm half-lying; I don't really know if there's any truth to my empty promise at all. "Besides, there _are _people who know. Gale knows."

"Gale doesn't count, though. He already knows about Snow and he won't stop him," Prim argues.

It's true. Gale _does_ know what Snow does to us and he _wants_ to stop him, but he _can't._ He has his little brothers and sister to look after. If he ever confronted Snow, he'd only make Gale's life harder, so he looks the other way and still tries to help us whenever he possibly can.

I hold my breath as I suddenly notice the distant, yet approaching sound of tires on gravel.

I should have _known_.

I roll my eyes and curse under my breath as I instantly recognize Peeta's car coming around the corner. It slows down, as to be expected, and I feel my face heat up as I slowly approach his car.

He rolls down his window and smiles widely at me.

"Good morning, beautiful," he tells me cheerfully. I narrow my eyes and look over at Prim, who has a huge knowing grin on her face.

"What?" I ask her playfully, raising my eyebrows. "He's talking to you, Prim. Aren't you, Peeta?" I turn to him and wink for him to play along.

He grins wider and a small chuckle escapes him. "She's right, Prim. I'm talking to both of you."

Prim's face goes red and she looks away, instantly shy and speechless. Without another word, she timidly retreats over to where her backpack lies on the ground. I turn back to Peeta and smile.

"I mean it, though," he tells me sweetly and quietly, "You really do look stunning this morning. Your hair is—"

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, Prince Charming," I roll my eyes and attempt to joke, despite my feelings of trepidation, "I know I look haggard this morning." I toy with my hair nervously, attempting to casually cover up my neck with it. I finally ask, "Anyway, what do you want?"

He seems to mull this over for a moment and then shrugs as if making up his mind.

"You," he answers simply.

I feel my stomach do a flip at his obvious attempt to flirt. "Seriously, though."

"I _am_ serious," Peeta replies. He leans a little closer and gestures for me to get lower down to him so he can tell me something more quietly. I let out a long breath and decide to do so, even though I know I probably shouldn't. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, causing my skin to break out into goosebumps, and whispers, "I couldn't get you out of my head at all last night."

I lean back and look away awkwardly. Clearing my throat, I answer with, "Oh." I don't really know what else to say to that, but I finish lamely with a half-hearted, "I'm sorry?"

Peeta laughs, his baby blue eyes sparkling brightly in the morning sun, "No need to apologize, Katniss. You were definitely a welcome guest. Anyway, it's all my fault for kissing you—"

My eyes go wide and I look over at Prim, who is now viewing us with a kind of knowing suspicion. How much is she hearing from where she's sitting? And why is Peeta telling me all of this?

I turn back to him and reply seriously, "Well, maybe you shouldn't do it again, then."

"What?"

"You _know,_" I say quickly, fidgeting with my hair. He shakes his head as if he doesn't understand, so I lean down closer to him and finish in a whisper, "Kiss me."

"Sure." And before I can react or even process what is happening, his lips are on mine again. But only for a second. I gasp loudly in surprise and pull back quickly, my eyes wide from the shock of what just happened.

I did _not_ expect that at _all._

I hear Prim giggle behind me, and then she starts to chant mischievously, "Kiss her, Peeta! Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!"

I wheel around, instantly mortified, and through gritted teeth I retort quite emphatically, "Shut _UP_, Prim!"

I'm going to kill her. I am a_bsolutely_ going to _kill_ her for this….

"I hear you, Prim! I'll do my very best to follow your orders!" Peeta calls over to her in amusement, despite what I had just said to her. I face him again with my hands on my hips and shake my head disapprovingly. He only smiles wider, though, and I find that I really can't stay mad at him. "Well, are you both going to ride to school with me or what? I'm stopping by the bakery for some morning doughnuts—"

Prim picks up her backpack and runs to Peeta's car before I can even answer. She opens the back door excitedly and sits down without a word.

"Well, I guess you've been answered then," I tell him, knowing it's pointless to even argue. I make my way to the passenger door, open it, and sit down inside. I feel even more self-conscious and unsure of myself now that I'm sitting right next to him. My face is bright red already and, knowing that Peeta and Prim seem to be working together against me, I feel very paranoid that she might tell him about Snow, despite my earlier protests.

* * *

Finally, after what seemed like the longest car ride ever, we arrive at the bakery. I was tense the whole time, wondering if Prim was going to say something inappropriate about home or Snow, or about the cut on my neck. Luckily she didn't, but I can't be too sure that she still won't.

As we pull into the parking lot and stop, I turn to Prim and tell her, "Go on inside. Peeta and I will meet you in a minute, okay?" I glance over at Peeta, who looks back at me with concern and curiosity.

"Why? You gonna kiiiisss?" Prim teases and giggles, then starts to make kissing noises.

She is _really_ testing me this morning….

I purse my lips and shake my head. Narrowing my eyes at her in annoyance, I try to keep my composure, "Prim! Go inside. Now!"

I hear a small snort of laughter come from Peeta, who then tries to cover it up with a fake cough. He's not fooling anyone, though.

When Prim finally disappears inside, I turn to him with a frown, "You need to stop it."

"Stop what?" He feigns innocence, but he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"Kissing me and being all flirty in front of Prim," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. I feel weird even having this conversation with him. I've never been one for public displays of affection, though. Actually, I've never been one for _any_ displays of affection.

"Why?" He suddenly looks very serious.

"_Why_?" I repeat his question and shrug. I look away. "Because it's inappropriate for her to see—"

"See _what_?" Peeta asks quickly, his eyes questioning but kind. "A guy showing interest in her big sister? Because I'm _pretty_ sure she wasn't upset by it. I think it was kind of the opposite, actually."

"Yeah, well. You might get her hopes up and I don't want to deal with the disappointment."

"Then I will try my hardest not to ever disappoint her." I feel his hand fold into mine. I want to pull it away, but I can't bring myself to. He's not being rude or anything, and I know that any other girl would love hearing these things. I don't know how to process them, though. And I don't even know why I'm letting him hold my hand at the moment, but I don't have a reason not to allow it, either. I find that I like it more than I don't.

I cover my eyes with my other hand and mumble, "I still don't understand you at all. I'm _really_ not worth your time, Peeta—"

I stop mid-sentence as I feel him lightly move my hair over my shoulder. I give a sudden gasp of realization, and open my eyes again, as his fingertips trace the cut on my now exposed neck.

I slowly look over at him, my body trembling.

He's frowning and looks contemplative. Suddenly his eyes stray from my neck and to my face. He asks quietly and seriously, all trace of humor gone from his voice, "What happened?"

"Nothing," I answer hastily and swat his hand away from me. I quickly bring my hair back over my shoulder to hide the cut.

"No, it's not."

"It's…. it's just a paper cut," I make up. I know it's stupid as soon as I say it. The cut looks nothing similar to a paper cut and I know he's not gullible enough to believe that.

"Yeah, sure," he replies sarcastically, but with concern. "And the bruise on your cheek was caused by paper, too?"

"Maybe." I shrug and look away from him. "I don't want to talk about it."

I open the car door and get out, not wanting to discuss this any further with him. I walk as fast as I can to the bakery without looking back.

**Note:** Thanks for reading. :) I would love it if you left a review! Much more to come!


	17. Questions

_Chapter Seventeen_

**Questions**

"_**Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates vision for tomorrow." **_

_**-**__** Melody Beattie **_

"Katniss! Good morning, dear," Mr. Mellark replies cheerfully as I enter the bakery. "Such a nice, unexpected surprise to see you and Prim here this morning."

"Peeta saw us waiting for the bus and gave us a ride," Prim pipes up happily from a table in the dining room. She already has a plate full of baked goods in front of her. I'm guessing Mr. Mellark gave her free reign to pick whatever she wanted and her eyes were a little bigger than her stomach.

I feel my heart leap to my throat as I hear Peeta enter the bakery from behind me. I don't feel like answering or acknowledging any of his questions about my neck, and I really hope he lets the subject drop. I nervously twist my hair in my hands, bringing it forward enough to cover the cut. I don't need Mr. Mellark asking questions, too.

Peeta comes up right beside me and asks quietly, "Will you follow me to the back room? I need to show you something."

I narrow my eyes at him in warning. I can tell he's lying so his dad won't think something's wrong. Mr. Mellark smiles to himself and shakes his head as if amused about something, then walks into the dining room to sit with Prim.

"I'm _not_ talking about it, Peeta," I whisper forcefully.

He starts to walk to the back room, gesturing for me to follow him. I hesitate at first, but reluctantly give in and do as he wants.

I stand there quietly, staring at him in defiance. He can ask all he wants, but he _can't _make me talk, after all.

He walks over to the far corner of the room and retrieves a white metal box from a shelf, which I instantly recognize as a first-aid kit. What does he expect to do with that? It's not like he can make the cut on my neck vanish or anything. The damage has already been done. He makes his way back over to me, places the box on the counter, and opens the lid without a word.

I break the silence in spite of myself.

"What are you doing?"

He finally looks at me and then back down at the cut again. He answers with a frown, "Regardless of how it happened, it looks pretty bad. I don't want it to get infected."

"It's not even deep at all, Peeta. It's a surface wound. A scratch, really. It'll be just fine," I reply defensively, and add as an afterthought, "Anyway, I've had a lot worse than this before."

"I know," he says meaningfully without meeting my eyes, "I've noticed."

"You have?" I ask quickly, without really thinking.

He takes a bottle of antiseptic out of the container and pours some of the liquid onto a piece of cotton. A wistful sigh escapes him as he meets my eyes once more. I look away, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under his seemingly knowing gaze.

"You're really not as invisible as you think you are."

"Maybe not to _you_—"

"_Never_ to me," he answers in a serious, yet sincere tone. Our eyes meet again for a brief moment, in which he raises his eyebrows to make a point. I sigh and look down at the floor again. I then feel his hand on my hair—moving it to the side to gain access to my wound—and I step back from him quickly, folding my arms. "Come on, you _need_ to let me do this. It won't hurt—"

"I don't care if it hurts."

"Then let me—"

"No."

"Katniss, please? You're being stubborn," Peeta pleads with me, both with his words and his eyes. "You want it to heal faster, don't you?"

I shrug and then nod and, like that, I know I've lost any control over the situation. I really don't know why I'm refusing his aid, anyway. It can't hurt anything, after all, and he's only trying to help. He walks over to me again and questions me with his eyes. I just shrug again and look away, as if giving in and wanting him to get it over with.

He gently pushes my hair back over my shoulder, and brings the wet piece of cotton to my neck, dabbing it softly along the line of the cut. It's wet and cold, and then it starts to burn slightly.

I take in a sudden breath and narrow my eyes at him. "You lied to me. It stings."

"Only for a split second, though," Peeta replies softly and consolingly. He then takes me by complete surprise when leans down and steadily blows air onto my neck in an attempt to dry the wound quicker. His breath is warm against my cold skin and it sends shivers and chills throughout my entire body. I clear my throat in an attempt to compose myself and appear casual, but I honestly feel very awkward with him standing so close to me, with his lips mere inches from my neck, blowing on me.

"I… I think it's dry now," I tell him rather unevenly. He leans away from me and nods silently. He moves back over to the box and pulls out a yellow tube of antibiotic ointment.

"I _promise_ you this one won't sting or hurt at all, okay?" He tells me with a small, reassuring smile.

"Okay then. Get it over with."

He unscrews the lid and squeezes some of the clear gel onto his index finger. I take in a deep breath and bite my bottom lip, trying to prepare myself for the contact again.

"I'll be gentle," Peeta says to me right before he places his finger lightly to my neck. He runs it along the length of the cut, making sure to get the antibiotic onto every bit of it. I stare at his face as he does this, and wonder why in the world someone like him would care at all about someone like me. His blue eyes seem a little darker than normal and are narrowed in concentration as he treats my neck. Suddenly he shakes his head, as if disgusted, and looks up at me. "I know someone did this to you. And who ever that person is, I hope they rot in hell."

"Peeta!" I reply in shock of hearing him speak so crudely. I expect it out of Gale and Snow, or basically _anyone_ else, but not him.

"What?" He asks as he walks back over to the first-aid kit.

"Nothing. I'm just not used to hearing you talk like that."

He picks a big flesh-colored bandage from the box and looks at me, frowning.

"I'm sorry. It just really makes me mad that someone would ever hurt you like that, or at all."

"You don't know that," I tell him quickly and avoid his eyes. "You have no idea if someone did this to me—"

"I know _you_ didn't do it," Peeta replies factually. "I also know _paper _certainly didn't do it. And I know the only reason you'd have to lie about it is if you're covering for someone. You think I don't know all about that sort of thing, Katniss?" He points to the light bruise on his cheek and then to his bad leg. He shakes his head again and makes his way back over to me.

I don't really know what to say, so I remain silent. He obviously already knows more than I'm willing to admit to him, anyway.

He nods slowly as if I've proved his point. "And now you're all quiet, so I know I'm right. I don't really want to be, though."

"I just… I don't want to talk about it, okay?" I reply weakly. He peels the back off of the bandage and gently tilts my chin upwards to place it onto my neck. Once it's secure and fully covering the cut, he looks up at my face and brings his hand to my lightly bruised cheek.

"I wish you would tell me," he persists. "_I_ told _you_ things. I trusted you with things that no one else knows. You can trust me. I promise."

I sigh heavily and stare down at the floor.

"You didn't _have_ to tell me those things, though," I argue.

"But I _did_. Doesn't that count for anything?"

I shrug, feeling backed into a corner by his words. "There isn't anything you can do. It's just pointless to even go there—"

"Pointless?" Peeta echoes in disbelief and touches my neck gently, "This? It's _not_ pointless, Katniss! It's pretty serious, actually—"

"Yeah? Kind of like losing a leg, and nearly your life, to a homicidal maniac? That's pretty serious, too, Peeta!" I retort a little heatedly.

He breathes in deeply and runs his hand through his hair. He looks tired and stressed. "I'm _stuck_ in my situation. When I turn eighteen in November, though—"

I cut him off before he can finish, "And I'm _not _stuck in _my _situation?"

He shrugs. With obvious exasperation in his voice, he tells me, "I don't know. You won't tell me."

"Well, I am."

"Who is it?"

"I can't say."

"It's been going on for years, I know that much."

"You don't know anything."

"I know a lot more than you think I do." He brings his hand to my bruised cheek again and runs his thumb over it tenderly. "I know it isn't normal for little girls to come to school with multiple bruises and broken bones. Or to be practically starved—"

"Don't judge me, Peeta!" I reply loudly all of a sudden.

"I'm not judging _you_. I'm judging who ever does this to you! It's not your fault, I don't care what the reason is. You don't deserve to be treated like this and neither does Prim! I saw the bruise on her face too, by the way. If you're not going to tell me who it is on your own behalf, at least do it for Prim. Besides, I'm sure I could get her to tell me in a heartbeat—"

"Don't you even _dare_."

"Or what?" He challenges me. "Katniss, I _want_ to help you. But you need to help _me_ by letting me help _you_—"

"I don't remember _asking _for your help," I answer icily.

"You didn't and I know you won't," he tells me, shaking his head. "You're too stubborn. But I _am _going to help you, whether you like it or not."

"It's a lot more complicated than you think!" I blurt, feeling my face burning with agitation. "Stop trying to play hero, okay? Because it won't work."

"I'm not trying to play anything. I just hate seeing you being hurt and afraid. You're way too good for that. Your sister is, too. You both deserve so much _better_—"

"And so do _you_!" I retort, but then I realize that it's not really an argument. It's the truth. We all _do_ deserve better than what we've been forced to endure.

"I know," Peeta replies with a small, sad smile. He continues a little shyly with, "We _do_ deserve better. Maybe we deserve each other?"

"Peeta…" I mumble quietly and trail off, suddenly feeling speechless and self-conscious. I don't know how to act or what to say when he talks to me so sweetly. I'm just not used to it, and I don't think I ever will be. I sigh and finish with, "No. You deserve much better than me."

"How can I do better than the best?" He moves his thumb over my cheekbone gently, and I notice a slight twinkle come back to his eyes. "Besides, we already kind of match." He points to the bruise on his cheek and softly traces the one on mine at the same time. He smiles in a sad, ironic way. And then, before I can stop him, he leans over and places a small, warm kiss on my cheek. My breath catches in my chest and my heart starts to race just from the simple contact.

He leans back and smiles at me.

"What was that for?" I ask, attempting to frown and appear nonchalant about it all.

"I owed you one from yesterday. You kissed my cheek, so I kissed yours. It's only fair."

"You already kissed me this morning, though."

"So there's a limited amount I can give?" He asks in sudden amusement, raising his eyebrows. "I'd like to know the exact number you'll allow so I can make full use of each one."

And like that, the tenseness of the situation vanishes.

I smile somewhat shyly and roll my eyes, shaking my head. I tell him, "Peeta, you are absolutely horrible, and you _really_ need to stop with the kissing stuff. Seriously."

"Why? Am I bad kisser?"

"Stop fishing."

"So you're saying I'm good, then?" He grins at me in a playful way.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Seriously, though," Peeta looks at me questioningly now. "If you _really _don't like it, I'll stop. Just tell me you don't like it."

If I said that, it'd be untrue. So I change the subject, "Isn't it about time to head on to school? We're going to be late."

He looks at his watch and nods. "Yeah, you're right. I guess we should get going."

I feel instantly relieved and start to make my way out to the store-front. Peeta catches up to me and says quietly from beside me, leaning down next to my ear,"I'm not going to give up on you, Katniss. And I _will_ help you if it's the last thing I do."

That's the thing. If he tries to help me, it very well _could_ literally be the last thing he does. If Snow ever found out anything about me telling anyone, I'd be as good as dead. It's not that I don't trust Peeta, it's that I don't trust everyone _else._

* * *

Once Prim is dropped off at the elementary school and we arrive at the high school, we realize we're a little early. We decide to sit in the car for a few minutes to eat a couple of doughnuts. Things are kind of quiet between us, but I'm not about to start a conversation with him. It always tends to lead to a point I'd rather avoid.

Peeta is the first to speak. He doesn't look at me, but straight ahead. His eyebrows are knitted together in contemplation.

"Katniss?"

"Hmmm?"

"It wasn't that guy, was it? That one who came into the bakery? He said he treated you rough and—"

I look at him with wide eyes, mortified that he'd even bring this up again.

"Gale? No, not at all. He'd never ever hurt me," I reply quickly and honestly, then add a little bitterly, "Not _physically_ anyway."

"Oh. Okay." Peeta doesn't ask anything else about him. He looks over at me, "I really wish you'd tell me."

"Peeta, please stop."

"Is it your parents?" He asks, not giving up. I don't say anything and just look out my window. I see him nod his head from the corner of my eye. "It _has_ to be, now that I think of it."

"My mom would never hurt me," I mumble, feeling the need to protect her good name. She might have made the mistake of marrying Snow and putting us in this situation, and I do resent her for it. But she would never physically, intentionally hurt us and she'd never wish for it, either. She's not fully capable of even thinking about it if she wanted to, at this point.

"Your dad is dead, and your mom remarried when you were eleven, right?" Peeta asks quietly.

I shrug and nod, but I don't say anything. I'm surprised that he always remembers these small details about my life so vividly.

"So it's your stepdad, then?" Peeta's voice is serious all of a sudden. He turns to me, but I don't answer. I bite my lip and look away.

His hand goes to my hair and he combs through it slightly with his fingers, tucking a few of the long tendrils behind my ear. His knuckles graze the side of my cheek.

I suddenly feel like crying, but I don't.

_Peeta knows._ I don't have to say anything. I technically didn't tell anyone. And I know he's aware that he's figured it out by my silence.

"You don't have to face this alone, Katniss," he tells me finally and sincerely, his voice almost whispering, "Not anymore. We'll figure something out, okay?"

I shrug, but I don't know what to say; I feel too overwhelmed to speak.


	18. A Turn of Events

_Chapter Eighteen_

**A Turn of Events**

"_**How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how much could you hold, how much could you care."**_

—_**Janet Fitch (White Oleander)**_

"We should really get to class, Peeta," I finally tell him.

I don't even wait for his reply before I open the door and get out of the car. I feel nervous and scared that he's figured out Snow is the one responsible for the cut on my neck, along with every other injury he's witnessed over the years. I don't know how he intends to help me, or if he even _can_, and I'm not going to get my hopes up. I don't want him to be involved in any of this at all, really. I don't want him or Mr. Mellark to get hurt because of me. I'd never forgive myself if that were to happen.

But another part of me, deep down, seems almost… _relieved... _that he figured it out without me having to tell him or give him details. I just hope he doesn't do or say anything to make the situation worse than it already is. Then again, how much worse can things _really _get?

When we get to class and sit down at our usual table, it takes no time at all for people to notice that my hair is down. It's not a very normal occurrence, after all. I now regret the decision, because instead of drawing attention _away_ from my neck, I might as well have worn a big neon sign pointing straight at it. Luckily Peeta had bandaged the cut this morning, so no one knows exactly _what's _hidden beneath it. I keep my eyes down and try to block out everyone around me. I just want to become invisible and disappear.

It becomes rather hard, however, when one of the girls who usually giggles about Peeta and me sitting together asks rather loudly and condescendingly, "What happened to your neck? Did Peeta give you a hickey?"

My mouth drops open in shock over what she just said in front of the whole class. I can't seem to think of a retort, which is just as well. It's best to not even reply; it'll just make things worse. I simply narrow my eyes in anger and shake my head.

Peeta quips up on my behalf, though, saying a bit heatedly, "She would _never_ let me even if I wanted to; she has way more class than that! And as for her neck, as far as it concerns you, a damned _vampire_ did it! Turn back around and mind your own business, Clove."

She retorts back with an eye-roll and a smirk, "It's hard to ignore. I can smell your desperation from way over here."

A few classmates laugh at her insult and I feel like dying on the spot. I just want him to be quiet; he doesn't _need _to defend me. Besides, it just reinforces what people think—that Peeta and I are… _together_… and it makes me feel weird.

"Oh my g_od_, you are so _awesome_!" Peeta replies sarcastically. "You know how to pick on people with tired, clichéd insults! You're obviously _way _more superior than _we _are. In fact, you're probably too good to even be _talking_ to us. So don't." He turns to me, red in the face and obviously agitated. As if to make a point, he says loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Katniss, you are the most _beautiful_ girl in this room right now, and anyone who thinks otherwise can buy a first class ticket to hell for all I care."

I don't know how to respond to that. I'm so embarrassed I feel like I could burst. I close my eyes tightly in a hopeless effort to vanquish myself. I know Peeta is only trying to help, but I really wish he'd just shut his mouth. He's only adding fuel to the fire and I don't feel like dealing with any of this. I have enough to worry about as it is.

I hear Clove reply back with a laugh, "Ooooh! You _really_ told me!" I open my eyes to see her broadcast to the classroom, "I think we can _all_ agree that they're totally screwing. Just goes to show there's hope for _anyone._" I hear people laugh again in reply, but I try to block it out and ignore as much as I can.

Luckily class starts before anything more can be said, though I can tell Peeta is seething beside me.

The rest of the school day goes by pretty uneventfully. A few people still make snide comments towards me, some of them involving Peeta, but I don't dwell on it. I decide to braid my hair after third hour, figuring that people are going to see my neck anyway. My hair being down just seems to attract rude, unwanted attention; especially from other girls.

Peeta and I eat lunch in his car, though he seems a little more silent than usual. I'm not sure what he's thinking about, but he's definitely concentrating on something. I can almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes. I don't ask, though. I'm not sure I _want_ to know. He's perfectly sweet towards me, but also seems to be a bit more agitated. There's just a noticeable edge to him today. I know it's not directed towards me in any way; though, it's probably _because_ of me. Hard telling what has been said to him in the classes he's had since first hour; I know how cruel people can be. I also know Peeta would never tell me if they said horrible things about me, which they more than likely did.

He doesn't ask about Snow again or mention my neck, and I don't bring it up either. I don't really want to talk about it, anyway.

For the first time this week, I _don't _avoid him for the rest of the day after lunch.

It's almost like a rebellious action against everyone who keeps saying mean things about us. I know it's affecting Peeta a lot more than it is me; he's not used to it as much. Maybe he _is_ used to it from his family, but not from classmates. I know he feels some sort of deep compulsion to defend me to them, but I really don't need it or want it. I'd prefer he not react or say anything to them at all. Sometimes silence can be more powerful in defeating an enemy than words. Or, at least, it makes them bored enough to leave you alone sooner rather than later.

* * *

After school, we pick up Prim and head to the bakery. Peeta has me knead some bread dough as he and Mr. Mellark walk into another room to talk in private. They seem to be having a very serious discussion, or Mr. Mellark _seemed_ very serious when he asked to talk to Peeta. I'm curious, but I don't ask. I don't want to be nosy and it's none of my business. I really hope that he's not telling his dad about Snow, though. Prim comes back to keep me company and excitedly tells me about her day, and how she made a new friend who just moved into town. I try to focus on her and push the negative, fearful thoughts out of my head.

When Peeta finally _does_ come back into the room, he goes straight to work without a word. He never bothers to tell me what he and his father were talking about, nor does he allude to it in any way. And it's not my place to inquire about it, either**.** I'm sure that if it concerned me or if he wanted me to know, he would tell me. He tries to appear as normal as he can, though I can tell something big is weighing on his mind. His eyes have this distant, contemplative look in them. He speaks to me as he would any other time, but he's not focused on what's going on at all. It's like he's on auto-pilot and I can sense his worry.

At the end of the night, Peeta locks up the bakery. It's pretty late and Prim is already about to pass out; I'm starting to feel a little drowsy myself.

When we approach his car, however, my heart drops to my stomach and I'm instantly filled with paranoid dread.

All four of Peeta's tires are flat.

Upon closer inspection, they're not_ just_ flat—each one has been sliced with a knife.

Peeta is deadly silent as he inspects the damage. I can tell that he's angry beyond words. He turns to me and closes his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers as if he's trying to rid himself of a migraine headache.

"Who do you think would do this?" I ask quietly, breaking the dead air that surrounds us. My mind is racing with all of the possible culprits. "Do you have a security camera?"

"No, but I'm definitely installing one as soon as I can tomorrow," he replies with a frustrated sigh. He opens his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I can't _believe _someone would do this! I _bet_ it was someone from school—"

"It really could have been anyone," I intervene. My mind suddenly goes to Snow and I feel nauseous—maybe this was some sort of warning? I wouldn't put it past him. "What are you going to do? Do you have any spares?"

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, I have one… but it's not going to do any good with all four of them like this."

Prim is still standing silently beside me, and seems to be just as worried as me and Peeta. She questions me with her eyes and I just shrug my shoulders; I don't have any answers for her.

"Just call your dad. He can come pick us all up, right?"

Peeta bites his bottom lip and glances away from me. "Normally I would, but he's out of town tonight. He won't be back until tomorrow."

I want to ask where he's gone and why, but it's not the time or place to be asking things like that. It's not my business, anyway.

I start to feel panic set in.

"So how are we getting home?" I ask, hoping he has some alternative up his sleeve.

"I don't know. I guess I'm staying in the bakery for the night," he replies, looking at me with worry. "I'm sorry I can't give you two a ride. Do you have anyone you can call to come get you?"

I think for a second and realize there isn't. The only person that comes to mind is Gale and he doesn't own a phone. I shake my head slowly.

Peeta lets out a long, stressed sigh and glances around for some sort of answer or solution to our problem. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "I'll try to call Proja. No promises, though. He usually doesn't answer for me."

I watch as he dials and places the phone to his ear. He does this a few times in a row, over the span of about five minutes, before rolling his eyes in anger and giving up.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I _really _am. The only other people I can think of are my uncle and aunt. They're in a different town, though, and they turn their phone off after nine o'clock. But I'll still try." He calls them, but no one answers.

He rubs his eyes again and tells me in a defeated voice, "I don't know what to do. I don't know anyone else who would help. I can't get these fixed tonight; not this late, anyway. I hate to say it, but we're all stuck here for the night. Again, I'm _really_ sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

Prim looks up at me with trepidation in her eyes. I can tell exactly what she's feeling and thinking, because so am I. Snow is going to flip if we don't show up. Actually... that can't be for _certain;_ sometimes he doesn't even notice us at all. It just depends on his mood or what type of drug he's on. Besides, maybe we'll be lucky that he never even came back home tonight.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter. We're stuck here regardless. I'll just have to deal with everything else when the time comes. Maybe Snow will let me explain; maybe I won't have to explain at all.

* * *

Peeta insists that Prim and I take the bed upstairs, and he sleeps on the couch in the downstairs dining room. We're all pretty tired, worn out, and stressed, so we don't really say much else before we go to bed. Prim questions me about what I think Snow will do before she falls asleep. I don't know how to answer, so I just tell her to be quiet and not to worry about it.

Soon, she falls into a deep slumber beside me. The quiet is deafening, and I feel enveloped in the darkness of the room and the negative thoughts in my head. It's very comfortable to be lying in an actual bed, but I can't fully appreciate it. I have so many questions about today; my mind is racing. I have no idea who would want to slice Peeta's tires. It could be _anyone._ I can't shake the strong feeling that it had something to do with me, and I can't help feeling terrible and guilty about it all.

Eventually, after what seems like hours of lying awake, I finally drift off to sleep.

* * *

I'm not sure what time it is when I wake up a little later. I know that it has to be in the early morning hours, sometime after midnight. I quickly find the upstairs bathroom to relieve myself and I'm surprised to see that it's basically like a regular home bathroom, with a bathtub and everything. There's a cup on the side of the sink, so I rinse it out and get a drink to alleviate my parched mouth. I look at myself in the mirror and take a deep breath as I shake my head. How did I get to this point? What in the _world_ am I doing here?

I push the tired thoughts from my head and start to make my way back to bed.

And then I hear it….

Peeta's tormented scream from downstairs.

Instantly, I'm filled with panic. What if Snow came to find me and Prim? What if he's down there hurting and torturing Peeta right now? I'm caught between a fight or flight defense; should I go help him or stay where I'm at, in hiding, to protect me and Prim?

My whole body is trembling with fear and my heart is beating out of my chest. I can't breathe. I can't think. I don't know what to do. I can't seem to move one way or the other; I just stand where I am, frozen with dread and hyperventilating.

"No! NO! Please stop… _please. _Get away! _Help!" _Peeta's pleading and fearful voice calls out again, sending chills down my spine. The sadness and desperation in his voice is palpable; I can tell he's in tears or next to it. I bite my lip and stand at the top of the stairs in trepidation and anxious contemplation of what to do next.

Then he lets out such a mournful, hopeless cry that I finally make up my mind. If Snow _is_ down there, it's all my fault, _not_ Peeta's. I can't continue to let him get hurt because of me—it's just not right, and I can't let myself be such a coward by hiding up here. Regardless of whether it's Snow or not, someone needs to intervene and stop what's happening to him. After all, I have no doubt that if the tables were turned, Peeta would have already done so for me.

I look around for something I can use as a weapon to defend myself if need be. I decide to go with a thick and sturdy rolling pin. I then try to muster every bit of daring I have as I slowly and silently descend the stairs. The closer I get, the louder his scared and sorrowful cries become. I don't hear anyone else's voice no matter how hard I strain my ears, though. Who is it and what exactly are they doing to him? My mind is racing with every possible horror imaginable.

I tiptoe through the darkened back room and make my way out into the storefront as stealthily as I can. The only light to be seen is the one from outside, shining dimly through the windows. It casts eerie shadows on the floors and walls, making everything feel so much more foreboding—especially with Peeta's haunting voice breaking the dark, still silence of the night.

I hold my breath, feeling my body shaking with adrenaline, and try to gather the courage I need to peek into the dining room. I hear him holler out again, as if in pain, and push all of my nervousness to the side. If I'm going to help him, I need to do it sooner rather than later. I can't chicken out now. I _have_ to be brave.

I finally look in at him….

He's completely and utterly _alone._

I stand there for a minute, trying to calm myself down. I feel so relieved that there isn't anyone else in the bakery with us. I place the rolling pin on a nearby table and take a few deep breaths, shaking my hands in an attempt to dispel any remaining anxiety.

Peeta is only having a bad dream.

Well, I guess I shouldn't say _only_, because whatever sort of nightmare he's having at the moment must be a truly horrific one. Still, I am glad that whatever is happening to him is only in his imagination and not real.

"No, no… _no_… don't! _Please_… stop…" he begs passionately, his hoarse voice coming out with a hint of a cry behind it. I watch as he kicks at dead air and his tightly balled fists punch aimlessly out in front of him as if to keep something, or _someone_, horrible away.

I'm not sure what to do.

I know I should probably pretend that I didn't see or hear anything, just leave him be, and go back to bed. But I can't seem to make myself turn around. It makes my heart leap into my throat to witness him in such pain and anguish. I sigh heavily and desperately look around the room, willing myself to find the courage to walk over and try to wake him up.

He starts to whimper and I just can't take it anymore.

Without another thought, I quickly walk over and sit beside him on the couch. His body is very stiff now, with every muscle flexed out of some imagined fear in his head. His hands now lie beside him, still in tightened balls, and almost all of the blood has drained from them. He shakes his head, drawing his eyebrows into each other out of distress. His jaw muscles tense and release repeatedly. He begins to mumble quietly and incoherently, but I can still hear the misery in his voice. I'm used to him being so cheerful and sweet all of the time that seeing his inner demons on display like this, without his knowledge or consent, is a bit much to take in.

I gently place my hand on his shoulder and shake it a little.

"Peeta…." I whisper forcefully, trying to wake him up.

He only kicks again and shakes his head, sadly moaning "no" repeatedly. He's so pitiful, so vulnerable, that he seems like a little child to me rather than a nearly full-grown man.

I shake his shoulder a little more strongly and say his name louder a second time. I just want whatever pain and sadness he is experiencing right now to vanish. I want him to wake up and be happy again. Or as happy as he normally _seems_ to be. I know that after everything he's been through, he wears a mask to hide his worries and fears. He has to. I know exactly what it's like to wear a mask for the world, but I'm not as good at pretending and blending in as he is.

He's still not responding to me in any way. My hand remains on his shoulder and I can feel his body trembling heavily beneath it. I shake him a little more vigorously, but he only shudders and continues to shake his head frantically, yelling, "Get away! Get _away_ from me!" I know it's not intended for me, but for the monster he is seeing behind his eyelids.

"Peeta, wake up!" I practically yell, placing both of my hands on his shoulders. I shake him with force, but still, his eyes don't open at all. As he starts to whimper and mumble again, continuing in his attempts to fight off some invisible enemy, I lean down and tell him in his ear, "It's _just_ a nightmare. It's not real. It _isn't_ real, Peeta! Nothing's _real._ Wake up_… _please? _Please_, Peeta. I'm here; it's just _me_. I won't hurt you…."

His body stops fighting, but he's still shaking heavily. His voice comes out cracked and childlike as he quietly says, "It's _so_ dark… _too dark_. I can't _see. _I can't_ breathe_—"

My hand goes to his face, pushing the dampened blond curls off of his forehead. I linger for a second as he flinches under my touch before slowly bringing my palm down to his cheek. He seems so fragile, so _broken_. And I feel so powerless. I can't fight the demons in his mind; I can't even seem to wake him up. I close my eyes and bite my lip, wondering what to do next. I know I can't let him continue on like this….

He starts to squeak out in despair, "I'm _scared_. I'm sorry… _I'm sorry_—"

I can't take it anymore; I can't stand seeing him like this.

Unsure of what else to do and feeling desperate, I take my chances and act on impulse by kissing him on the mouth. I kiss him to stop the hollowed, dismal words from escaping his lips, and to somehow transfer his hurting to myself. I just want Peeta back and I want the darkness of his hellacious dream world to disappear.

He draws in a quick deep breath, as if my kiss has given him some sort of life force. His body stops shaking and goes extremely rigid, but I continue to plant small kisses on his lips with determination. His hands go to my chest and, before I can react at all, I am on the hard bakery floor with the breath knocked out of me, from both the impact and the shock of it all.

Mortified, I look at him in hurt and surprise. He sits up on the couch and frantically looks around the room. As the situation starts to dawn on him and he realizes what he's just done, his face drains of color and his eyes go wide with apology as they settle on me.

"Katniss!" Before I can say anything at all or push him away, he is on the floor next to me, cradling me in his arms as if _I'm_ the one who just woke from a terrible nightmare. After a moment, I hug him back tightly; not because of me, but because I am so thankful to have Peeta back to normal. "I'm so sorry! Oh god. I am _so_ sorry. Are you hurt? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm just fine," I tell him quietly and let go of him. His arms stay in place around me, though, rubbing my back soothingly. "Seriously, Peeta. I'm perfectly okay. I'm more worried about you."

He releases me and leans back to look at me in confusion. "Why?"

I'm speechless for a moment. Does he _seriously_ not remember the horrific dream he was having only a few moments ago?

"You were having a _really _terrible nightmare. You were screaming and thrashing about, and I couldn't wake you—"

Peeta doesn't seem surprised by this, but rather very embarrassed. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, placing his face in his palms. He sighs heavily, and only his eyes are visible as he looks up at me from his hands. "I was hoping it wouldn't happen here," he mumbles. "I'm really sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to wake you. It doesn't happen all of the time, usually only when I'm stressed—"

"What doesn't happen all the time?"

His hands drop from his face and into his lap.

"Night terrors. I've had them for as long as I can remember. I mean, I don't _really_ remember them or even know when I've had them, aside from waking up with a scratchy throat, bruises, and achy muscles. But I've been told about it by my mom and brothers before. They think I'm a freak, but I sleep in the basement now so I don't bother them with it—" He says all of this quickly, carefully avoiding my eyes as if he believes what they say—that he's a freak for having these horrific nightmares that he can't control. It makes me angry and sad that they'd make him feel badly about it.

It all makes sense, really; him having night terrors. I've witnessed first-hand how Peeta can change his emotions on and off like a light-switch. It puzzled me how, after Mrs. Mellark was so awful to him, he was able to block it out soon afterwards and smile like nothing had happened. He bottles things up when he's awake, but can't control his dreams and subconscious. His mind seems to betray him in that way— it can't take all the pressure. It has to find release somehow.

And I really want to know what he was dreaming about, because it seemed to truly haunt him. My mind keeps going back to Mrs. Mellark and I hate it. I don't want to think about what she's done to him... especially as a little child.

"You're _not_ a freak!" I can't help my voice coming out a little more defensive than it should; it's late, I'm tired, and this whole day and night has been more than a little overwhelming. "You can't help it, and there's nothing wrong with you at all!"

Peeta glances back at me and frowns. He seems very ashamed and dejected.

"Look, I _know_ it's weird, okay? I wouldn't hold it against you if you have no interest in me after this. Not that you were ever really interested anyway, but _still_…."

I shake my head, feeling a little annoyed, but also sympathetic.

"Peeta, I've seen _plenty _of weird. You're not even close," I tell him honestly. He shrugs as if he doesn't actually believe me and glances away again. I gather my courage, feeling my cheeks turn bright pink. My voice shakes as I finish timidly with, "And if I'm not _at all_ interested, why am I going on a _date_ with you?"

He turns back to me in an instant, his eyes suddenly bright and curious. He asks in awed disbelief, "You're _what_?"

I nervously bite my lip and look at the floor, "You asked. You still want to, right?"

This seems to cheer him up in an instant.

"Yes!" he replies quickly and excitedly, nodding his head. He clears his throat and says a little more quietly, "I mean, you never really answered me. So I assumed you didn't want to, and I didn't want to pry or anything—"

"Well, you have your answer now." I suddenly feel very self-conscious and silly. What did I just agree to? I really just wanted to make him feel better and to stop feeling so badly about himself. I don't know the first thing about going on a date, or how this will even be possible. I mean, what about Prim? I can't leave her home alone.

I'll figure that out later, I guess.

I take in a deep breath as his arms go around me again without any sort of warning. "Thank you, Katniss! Thanks for giving me a chance."

"Sure," I answer back awkwardly. I start to get up off of the floor; he releases me and then stares up at me questioningly. I just stand there, unsure of what to really say, and cross my arms across my chest. "Well, it's late and we should probably get some sleep for school while we still can.…"

He nods and moves to the couch, "You're right."

We're both silent for a moment as we look at each other, but neither of us move an inch.

He sighs and nervously runs his hand through his hair."Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you… I mean, you don't _have_ to," he starts without confidence and seems to be shy about asking whatever he's going to ask. He continues, not meeting my eyes, "But it'd be _really_ nice and I'd probably sleep a little better—"

"You want me to stay?" I guess, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugs and nods at the same time, then looks over at me sheepishly, "Please? Only until I fall asleep."

I look at him skeptically, unsure of how to answer. A part of me wants to, but another part of me thinks that this is simply too much, too soon. But what do I know about this sort of thing at all? Nothing, that's what. This is all new to me. Besides, I've slept next to Gale more times than I can remember. I'll just treat this the same way. It doesn't _have_ to be a big deal.

He seems to sense or see the trepidation on my face because he quickly adds, "I'm not going to try anything funny. I promise. It's just… being around you makes me happy and I don't want any more bad dreams."

I release a long breath and find myself giving in. I let my crossed arms fall down to my sides.

"Sure. Whatever. Why not?" I sit down on the couch beside him and stare at my lap, purposefully avoiding looking over in his direction. "What now?"

"I'm… I'm not really sure," Peeta tells me quietly. "But thank you…"

I roll my eyes and smile slightly. "You can stop that, you know."

"What?"

"Thanking me."

He leans over and kisses me on the cheek rather quickly and I look over at him with an eyebrow raised in question. He simply grins and answers with, "I will _never_ stop thanking you."

I lightly nudge him with my shoulder and attempt to joke a bit to alleviate my nerves, "Now have _sweet _dreams, okay? Just think of cakes and cookies, doughnuts and pies—"

"If I want to have sweet dreams," he tells me suddenly and factually, "I'll just think of you."


	19. Maybe

_Chapter Nineteen_

**Maybe**

"_**I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love." **_

—_**Sylvia Plath**_

Peeta leans down and picks up a green blanket that I'm guessing had fallen off of him as a result of his night terrors. He hands me a corner of it, which I take and bring the material up over my chest, tucking it in behind my shoulder. I instantly feel more secure with my body being mostly covered by the blanket. Peeta does the same, and then I feel his hand envelop my own beneath the dark confines of the cover. He entwines our fingers together, lightly running his thumb over the top of mine.

My whole body starts to shiver, but it has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Peeta turns to me with a small smile on his face, "You're shaking. Are you cold? I can get another blanket—"

"No," I reply quickly and quietly, shaking my head. "I'm not cold. This is fine. I'm okay." Although honestly, I feel like my heart might explode out of my chest at any moment.

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze and shyly whispers, "Is this making you uncomfortable?"

I'm silent for a moment. I don't know how I feel, really. I'm nervous, that much is apparent; my body isn't keeping that a secret. But is it making me uncomfortable? Do I want Peeta to stop holding my hand? Do I _not_ like it?

"No," I finally answer. "This is all just… _new _for me." I really don't know how else to explain it.

Peeta chuckles lightly and nods his head in understanding.

"I know what you mean. It is for me, too."

I roll my eyes and sigh, "Yeah, I doubt it. You've had girlfriends before and I'm sure you've held their hand, too. This is hardly new for you." It comes out a little more bitterly than I had intended. Great, he probably thinks I'm jealous now… which I certainly am _not_. I'm only stating a fact.

"What are you…?" Peeta seems confused as he turns fully towards me. I look back at him, attempting to keep my face void of any emotion. He raises an eyebrow in question. "Who are these girls? I'd really like to meet them."

I bite my lip and look away. I don't know how to answer so I just shrug. I feel stupid for even saying anything. It's none of my business who Peeta has dated or held hands with or kissed, even. I find that I don't really want to know, anyway. I don't know why I brought it up in the first place.

"Katniss," he tells me in a lighter, timid voice, "I… I haven't had a girl interested in me since before my leg was amputated. That happened when I was thirteen. I've never had what you'd call a _real _girlfriend."

Even though he sounds and appears to be sincere, I find it a little hard to believe that he's never had a girlfriend. He's probably just saying that to make me feel more comfortable and "normal" for not ever having a boyfriend before. I know he's making an attempt to relate to me, and trying to me make me _not _feel so silly and inexperienced, but I don't like it. I don't like being lied to.

"Look, you don't have to lie to me, okay? I don't _care_ whether or not—"

"I'm _really _not lying," Peeta answers quickly and seriously. I look over at him again. He shrugs and glances away from me as if he's embarrassed by his admission. "Between school and working here in the evenings, when would I even have time for one? Anyway, plenty of girls feel sorry for me, but not enough to want to date someone without a leg."

"That's not true," I tell him. "They would, too. I doubt your leg even matters to them—"

"No, they really _wouldn't_. And it matters, believe me," he replies with more defensiveness in his voice than I've heard him ever have with me, "It matters _a lot, _actually."

I don't know exactly why I do it, but I don't question it, either; I place my free hand on top of his and give a gentle squeeze of reassurance with the other, which is still clasped tightly within his. He looks at me in surprise, so I just reply with, "Well, that's _their_ loss, isn't it?"

He smiles slightly, almost sadly, and asks, "Is it?"

I meet his questioning eyes with mine. I nod and say, "Yes. It is."

And I mean it. Anyone who can't appreciate what a great catch Peeta is, who can't look past the loss of his leg and see how wonderful he is, well, they don't deserve him anyway. They don't matter, and it's totally their loss.

A sudden playful grin comes to his face, "So… their loss, your gain?"

I smile back and roll my eyes in amusement. I guess I left myself open for that one.

"For someone who hasn't ever had a girlfriend, you sure are overly confident," I reply in a shaky, but joking voice. I'm not sure how to answer his question. I'm not sure about anything at all, really.

"Only because I'm overly confident that I want to be with you," Peeta answers with a shrug of his shoulders. He bites his lip and looks down at the blankets, where our hands are intertwined beneath. "Anyway, appearances can be deceiving, you know. I'm not half as confident as you probably think I am. I just don't want to lose whatever slight chance I have with you."

He suddenly takes my free hand in his and brings it to his chest. My eyes go wide with confusion and surprise.

"Peeta, what are you—"He places the palm of my hand right in the center of his chest. His hand is warm and soft as he places his own palm flat on top of mine, holding me there against him.

"Do you feel that?" he asks quietly, raising his eyebrows at me as if to make a point. I feel the vibration of his voice against my palm, but I also feel what I'm pretty sure he's talking about; his heart is racing so fast and hard that I don't understand how he can appear so calm.

My eyes are still wide when I look up at him. I don't say anything, but I nod my head slowly in reply.

He removes his hand, but runs his fingers over the top of my own as lightly as a feather. I don't move mine, though. I just keep feeling his heartbeat thump faster and faster, and it makes me feel… _different_. It makes me feel like I'm not so alone in this, that Peeta is just as nervous and petrified as I am. This is all new for him, too. He's just very good at wearing a mask.

"It's like this all of the time when you're around," he tells me in a voice that's almost a whisper, but not quite. "_All of the time_, Katniss. So I don't know about being _overly_—"

And then, for the second time tonight, I act on impulse; I kiss him quickly on the lips. I don't know _why_… only that it feels like the right thing to do. He doesn't have time to react, though, because it only lasts a few seconds. After I pull away, he finishes his sentence with an awed, confused voice, "—confident."

I quickly take my hand from his chest and bring it up to my face to shield my eyes from embarrassment and the realization of what I had just done.

"Yeah, me neither," I tell him, shaking my head. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Well, we could always figure it out together?" Peeta suggests with a hint of humor in his voice, but I remain silent. I feel his hand go to my own, gently removing it from my eyes. I reluctantly look over at him, red-faced and mortified. He raises his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning. "Do you _really _think I didn't like that? _Seriously_? I mean, it would have been better if it had lasted _longer_—"

"I don't do these things, Peeta!" I interrupt, feeling overwhelmed by everything. "I _don't_ hold hands with boys," I lift our hands up from beneath the cover to make a point, but he doesn't let go, "I don't usually _kiss_ them or go on _dates_, or—"

"Katniss, calm down," he tells me with a tender voice. I look over at him with narrowed, accusing eyes. He smiles shyly and wraps an arm around my shoulders to comfort me. He leans down and says near my ear, "You say you don't do those things, and yet … you're doing _all of them_. You _do_ realize that, right?"

"I know!" I reply as if it's obvious, but it's anything but that. I finish weakly with, "I just don't know _why_…."

"Maybe, just _maybe_, and I might be completely wrong here, Katniss, but _maybe_ you kind of like me, too? Just a little?"

I'm silent for a moment, and then I shrug.

"Maybe?" I answer with uncertainty. "I don't know."

I feel my stomach doing flips, and I _really_ don't like the feeling at all. Peeta runs his hand and fingertips up and down my shoulder and upper arm, causing tingles to break out where he touches me. I close my eyes, remembering how sleepy I actually am. I lean my head back on to his arm. I don't want to think about any of this. I just want to go to sleep and forget everything.

"Katniss…." I hear his curious, quiet voice from beside me.

"Hmmm?"

"Did I imagine it, or… did you kiss me earlier?" He seems genuinely perplexed. I open my eyes and peer over at him in disbelief.

"Stop playing dumb. You know I did."

"No, I don't mean what happened just now. I mean, when I was sleeping; when I was having the night terror. I could have sworn you kissed me."

I close my eyes again and shrug. "You wouldn't wake up. I had to do _something._"

"So you did? Even though you had no idea what I'd do? I've been told I can get a little violent when I'm having them…."

I nod and release a long breath. "I didn't really think about it, Peeta. It's not a big deal. Besides, I thought someone was down here hurting you at first. I wasn't really afraid of a bad dream at that point."

He's silent for a moment, but then continues in a surprisingly heartfelt voice, "Wait. You thought someone was down here hurting me, and yet you still came down here to check on me?"

"So what?" I answer quickly and defensively. "Like you wouldn't have done the same—"

"I would have, but that's not the point," Peeta interrupts.

I open my eyes and look over at him with drowsy annoyance. "What _point_ are you trying to make?"

"Katniss, I doubt my own _brothers_ would have done that," he says, and there's something noticeably different in his voice. It's contemplative and distant, and… something else I can't quite place.

"Doesn't surprise me. They're kind of jerks—"

"_Anyone_ _else_ would have stayed upstairs, out of harm's way. They would have thought of their own safety first, and I wouldn't have blamed them. So… why didn't you? You could have gotten hurt."

"I don't care about that. I don't care about being hurt. I'm used to it," I reply with a shaky voice. I feel weird and defensive, and I don't know why. "If you have a point, Peeta, please make it already. I'm really tired."

"You cared enough to risk your life to help me. That's completely new for me." I start to object, but he continues before I can say anything, "You can downplay it all you want, but if there had been an intruder, they could have had a gun."

"But that didn't _happen_—"

"It _could_ have."

"It _didn't_, though."

"And you should _never _be used to being hurt—"

"Drop it, Peeta," I warn.

"I _know_ you don't like talking about it, but I'm still going to get you away from your step… I can't even finish that, he doesn't deserve to be associated with the term 'dad'—" Peeta continues in agitation.

I suddenly look over at him with wide, alarmed eyes. "Please, I'm begging you, don't tell _anyone_! I promised you I wouldn't say anything about your mom, and I haven't. Please don't tell anyone what you know? Not even your dad… _especially_ not him."

He glances at me sadly, but nods. "I haven't, and if you really don't want me to, I won't. But Katniss… _this_," he brings his hand from my shoulder and to my neck, running his fingertips lightly over the bandage covering my cut, "_Can't_ continue. I won't let it. Anyway, why doesn't your mom just leave him? Why doesn't she protect you?"

"She can't," I answer.

"Why?"

"It's a long story. But the short version is that he's driven her crazy, and now she doesn't even know who Prim and I even _are_—"

"If Dad _knew_—" Peeta starts heatedly, his face tense with anger.

"You're _not_ telling him! Promise me."

"But Katniss—"

"_Promise_ me, Peeta."

"I promise, okay? But he really loved her, you know," he replies matter-of-factly, in a quiet voice. "The way he still talks about her, I wouldn't doubt that he still does."

I narrow my eyes, "Snow _never _loved—"

"Is that the asshole's name?" he suddenly asks with derision, then shakes his head and continues, "I didn't mean _him_, though."

I look at him in confusion. It's late and I'm tired, and I have no idea what he's talking about at all. He's not making sense.

"What are you—"

"My dad," Peeta tells me in a low, secretive voice. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, "Was in love with your mom. And she loved him, too, a long time ago."

I sit up quickly, suddenly wide awake. I don't believe him. I _can't _believe him. Mom never said anything about Mr. Mellark before. I roll my eyes and look away, "You're lying."

"I'm not. I wouldn't go asking about it; it's kind of a touchy subject, but it's true. They probably would have been married if it wasn't for my mom—"

"Wait," I glance at him again with curiosity, "Let me get this straight. The girl your dad was in love with, the girl you told me about in your story the other day, that was my m_om_? Why didn't you tell me? Don't you think that was worth mentioning?"

"I wasn't sure it was my place to tell," Peeta answers with a guilty shrug, not meeting my eyes, "I probably shouldn't have even told you just now, but under the circumstances…."

"Are you serious? You don't think I should have _known_?"

"What does it matter?" he asks me, nervousness evident in his voice. "They loved each other, waited too long to say anything, and married the wrong people. And now look where they are. It's not exactly a happy ending, Katniss."

"My mom," I reply a little icily, "Didn't make a _mistake_ when she married my dad! My dad was wonderful to her and to us—"

"I didn't mean _your dad_," Peeta reassures me, his eyes going wide with apology as he realizes what he said. "My dad has nothing but nice things to say about him. He was really happy your mom married him, couldn't have imagined a better man to be with her, and your mom really loved your dad. No one is denying that at all. I'm talking about _now_. You can't tell me our parents are happy now."

I sigh heavily and nod, because I know he's right. I don't say anything, because I don't know _what_ to say. This new information is a lot for my mind to take in, and I don't know how to process it yet. I was only eleven when my mom's mind started slipping. She didn't exactly have heart-to-hearts with me about her love interests prior to my dad when I was that age, or younger. Why would she?

"My dad always wondered why your mom stopped coming to the bakery to see him, you know. She'd come in with you**,** Prim, and your dad every Sunday. He'd heard she'd gotten remarried after your dad died, and moved off. I saw you at school, but I didn't ride the bus, and besides, I didn't know the whole story until I was older. And then you started showing up at our doorstep a few years ago, selling things. He knew _something _was wrong, but wasn't _sure_—"

"He never mentioned her," I interrupt, "Never asked about her—"

"He probably didn't know what to say. I'm sure there's a valid reason why. Besides, you've never really been the talkative type."

"Whatever, Peeta. I'm talking to you now, quite a bit."

"Yeah, that's true," he replies with a little more hope in his voice. He brings me closer to him with his arm, giving me a half-hug. "Which kind of surprises the hell out of me, to be honest."

"Well, you never talked to me before, either," I retort.

"And I'm sorry about that," Peeta shrugs, and leans down to quickly kiss my shoulder. He rests his chin on it and says, "We're talking now, though, and I hope we talk a lot more in the future. I'd love to talk to you forever—"His voice is so low and so near to my skin that the vibration of it sends ticklish shockwaves down my neck and back, causing my body to break out into goose-bumps. I release an involuntary shiver and suck in a deep breath. He lifts his chin and suddenly asks, "Are you okay? It _is_ getting a bit chilly in here." He reaches over and brings the blanket up to both of our necks and then rests his head on top of mine.

"It's not that," I tell him honestly. "Your voice just makes me ticklish when you're so close."

"Really?" Peeta asks with humor in his voice, "I'll have to remember that. That's a handy affect to have. I had no idea my voice could make you tremble—"

"Peeta!" I shake my head, feeling my face turn bright red, and lightly jab him in the side with my elbow. "That's kind of an inappropriate thing to say, especially given the serious things we've been talking about."

"I don't think so," he replies and kisses the top of my head. He runs his fingertips down my arm. "It might be a little selfish to say, but I'm glad our parents didn't marry. You wouldn't exist… hell, _I _wouldn't even exist. And if we did, we'd be siblings… and it'd be kind of weird to be in love with my sister—"My eyes go wide and I go rigid in his arms. He must have grasped the gravity of his words because he gives a slight coughing sound and continues, "I mean… Oh god, too soon. Wrong choice of words. It's late and… please ignore what I just said, okay?"

I nod quickly, feeling relieved that it was just a slip of words. I mean, obviously he's _not_ in love with me, but it was still a shock to hear. I play along, to ease his embarrassment, "What did you just say? I seem to have temporary amnesia."

He gives a short, quiet laugh, and we both relax into each other's embrace again. He continues, "Anyway, wouldn't it be a sweet twist of fate if their son and daughter ended up together? At least it'd be somewhat of a happy ending."

I yawn and shrug, "I'm guessing you mean us, right?"

"No, Katniss," Peeta replies with good-natured sarcasm, "I'm _obviously_ talking about Prim and Proja—" I jab him with my elbow a little roughly, "Ow! I totally deserved that."

"Damn right you did!"

He leans down next to my ear and whispers, "You're so sexy when you're all feisty."

I nervously bite my lip and turn to him. He doesn't bother to lean back, though, so our faces are close… _too_ close. I look at his eyes at first, but they seem so… _knowing_, so I quickly look down at his mouth. I attempt to tell him in a stern voice, but it comes out shaky, "Peeta, you're getting _awfully brave_—"

But I don't get to finish because he decides to take his bravery to a whole new level and kiss me. And, in the darkness of the bakery dining room and under the cover of the blanket enveloping us, I guess I feel slightly brave myself, so I kiss him back.

It's timid and uncertain at first, as our mouths attempt to find a steady rhythm and get reacquainted. I close my eyes tightly and just try not to think. I don't _want_ to think anymore; I just want to _feel._ Is that so bad? I just want to feel normal; I want to feel… _good_.

And I _want_ to kiss Peeta.

My hand finds its way to his chest again, where I place my palm in the very center. I feel his heart beating rapidly, and this seems to put me at ease. At least I know he's feeling just as nervous as I am about this. His hand moves steadily and slowly up the back of my neck and gently buries itself in my hair.

And then he finally releases my other hand, which feels instantly cold and slightly damp from the loss. He brings his newly freed hand to my face, running his thumb over my jaw and cheekbone, then bringing me closer. My own hand finds its way to his neck, where I let my fingertips dance within the curlicues at his nape.

Our kiss eventually becomes deeper, slower, and more relaxed. Our lips linger on each other's and then push together in an attempt for closeness, but it still doesn't seem to be close _enough. _I open my mouth to start to say something, to tell him we should probably stop, but he just kisses me before I can. Our kisses take on a whole different feeling and meaning after that; before it was only lips meeting, but now it's our whole mouths.

My whole body is shaking, my heart is beating like crazy, and my head is somewhere in the clouds… but for the first time, I feel… _real_. I feel hopeful. I feel desirable.

I feel _alive_.

And it scares me to death.

But when I get home, I remind myself, I'm probably going to be dead anyway.

Peeta is the first to pull away from the kiss. His lips look slightly swollen, and mine feel the same. Both of our breathing is coming out in erratic bursts, and his voice is shaky when he asks, "Is this _really _happening?"

I nod, but I can't seem to find my voice. I look away from his face, instantly feeling very self-conscious.

His thumb and index finger go under my chin, lifting my face up to look at him again. I finally say in a weak, unsure voice, "We should probably sleep now."

He nods, but looks like he wants to ask something, though he looks uncertain about it.

"What?"

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you please be my girlfriend?" Peeta asks shyly, but he also looks very serious. "You _know_ I'd be good to you. I'd do _anything_ for you. And you can't deny from our kisses that we have _something_—"

"Peeta…" I start. My mouth is dry and I feel overwhelmed. My eyes dart around the room. I don't know how to answer. I know he's telling the truth, but I don't know if I'm ready for it. I'm not sure if I can handle it, or how it will change things.

"Look, I know you're a very private person. You don't want people knowing your business, and I'm fine with that. I won't tell anyone, not even my dad, if that's what you want. Even if it's just between us, it's okay. I mean, I'm going to keep kissing you… and it'd just be nice to make it official. Nothing will change, really. If you need more time, I understand, too," he says in a nervous, rambling rush.

I'm silent for a moment, feeling very unsure about everything.

"No kissing in front of Prim?" I finally ask quietly, closing my eyes.

"If that's what you want," Peeta quickly replies, "If that's what it takes—"

"Fine," I reluctantly answer. "I guess."

"Really? You will?" he asks in surprise. I nod and shrug, feeling my stomach fill with dread and panic. He hugs me tightly and says near my ear, "You won't regret this, Katniss! I promise. I just want to make you happy."

I nervously clear my throat and attempt to joke, "Well, I guess we don't have to do the whole date thing, now."

Peeta kisses my cheek and, when I look at him, he's grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, no. We're _still_ doing the date thing."


	20. Remember

_Chapter Twenty_

**Remember  
**

_**Love is not a state, a feeling, a disposition, but an exchange, uneven, fraught with history, with ghosts, with longings that are more or less legible to those who try to see one another with their own faulty vision.**_

—_**Judith Butler **_

"Katniss…?"

I'm brought out of my slumber by a deep, yet quiet voice near my ear. I instantly feel the now familiar ticklish, electric jolt that runs throughout my entire body. I don't open my eyes, though. I pretend I don't hear Peeta trying to rouse me, because I don't want to face the day just yet. I want to stay here, in between sleep and awakening, safe and content beneath a blanket, wrapped in warm arms….

As soon as my brain finally catches up with my body and I register all of this, I hold my breath and slightly tense up.

I vaguely remember falling asleep next to Peeta with his arm around me, both of us sitting up next to each other. Sometime later, he woke me from a dead sleep, saying something about a crick in his neck and our backs hurting in the morning. I then lay down beside him, and went back to sleep without a second thought or word in reply. I was too tired to dwell on it.

But now? _Now_ my mind is racing the more my consciousness comes back to reality. He has one arm beneath my head and the pillow; the other is draped around me with his hand clasped comfortably within mine, which I've brought up to rest beneath my cheek. I seem to be using the back of his hand as a pillow more than the actual pillow itself. I finally take in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his skin which is mere inches from my nose. He smells like batter, sugar, nutmeg, and a myriad of spices I can't decipher all on their own, but the mixture of this aroma is delightful and it makes me hungry.

"I _know_ you're awake," he quietly mumbles into the side of my neck. I bring my shoulder up to my ear, trying to get the chills from the vibration of his voice to go away. He snorts and shifts behind me, but doesn't remove his arms or hands from where they are; instead, he embraces me closer to him. And then I feel _exactly _where his other arm _is_….

While his hand is tightly entwined within mine under my cheek, his arm is draped around my rib-cage, under my own arm, and rests directly in between my breasts. It's completely unavoidable with the way we are laying, though, and he probably doesn't even realize or think it's a big deal. Even though this closeness makes me feel slightly self-conscious, I'm surprised that I don't mind it at all. In fact, it seems… _familiar_, as if we've done this many times. I've never in my life been this intimate with anyone before, but I find that it's kind of nice; even a little thrilling.

I suddenly feel his soft, warm lips gracefully starting to plant tiny kisses along my neck. My heartbeat quickens and I bite my lip to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping my mouth. I close my eyes tightly, blocking out the world around me and sink into the feeling of my own body. I know I probably _shouldn't_ let Peeta do this, and I probably _shouldn't_ let myself enjoy it or get used to it. But I'm powerless to stop it; my body won't let me. It feels _too _good, _impossibly_ good, and I never want this to end.

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers, his lips still lingering on the sensitive flesh of my neck. A powerful chill runs down my body and, though my skin breaks out into goose-bumps, I feel feverish. Biting my lip does no good to prevent the involuntary throaty sigh that escapes me. I hear Peeta take in a deep, ragged breath from behind me, as if my reaction has taken him by surprise. He quickly leans back, putting a small distance between our bodies.

I know that he's perfectly aware that I'm awake now, and I'm a bit mortified at my complete lack of composure. I open an eye and peek over at the bakery windows; I notice that the first ray of sunlight hasn't even reached the sky yet.

"Peeta, what do you want? It isn't even daylight out," I mumble groggily, and close my eyes again.

"I know it's early, but Prim's _probably_ going to wake up soon, and Dad's supposed to be here before too long. We should also get ready for school and eat something for breakfast," he tells me. He sighs and gently rests his forehead onto my temple. "If I had a choice, though, I'd freeze this moment and live in it forever."

"Me too," I reply quietly and honestly.

I don't know exactly _how_ to explain it, but something changed between us last night; or maybe just with me. The kisses we shared were full of comfort, need, and a certain want that I wasn't even aware that I had. And sleeping in someone's arms all night, as they hold your hand, definitely has a way of bringing you closer to them.

I never really thought anything like this would ever be possible for me.

_Now_ I'm someone's _girlfriend_….

Not just _someone's _girlfriend; _Peeta Mellark's_ girlfriend.

I know I should listen to him about getting up, but I still don't make any effort to move or open my eyes. I feel his mouth start to leave a trail of lingering kisses on my neck once more. And I know, and I'm sure _he_ knows too, that he's really pushing boundaries this morning. I know I should object or say something, but knowing the pain I'll probably endure when I get home tonight, I really just don't care. In fact, I welcome it; I might as well try to feel as good as I can while I'm still able to.

"I'd really like to know who slashed my tires, if only to shake their hand," Peeta says against my neck again, causing a wave of ticklish electricity to trickle down my back. I can feel the curve of his smile on my skin as he continues, "Because it resulted in what has to be the best night and morning of my _entire_ life. So far, anyway; I'd like to wake every day of the rest of my life with you in my arms—"

The more he speaks, the more my body trembles from the resonance of his voice, and also from the sweet things that he's saying. I still don't know how to process them; I still don't come close to understanding why he wants to be with me, or what he sees that I don't. I won't question it anymore, though. I'm afraid that if I do, he'll realize he's made a mistake.

Besides, I may never have a chance to feel normal like this, or experience the kisses or the kind words of a boy ever again. It might be only temporary, but at least I'm giving it a shot. At least I'll know what it feels like to be wanted by someone and to know that they care. Because despite my confusion as to why or how, I _know_ Peeta cares about me. The way he treats me and talks to me is far too sincere to be an act or an ulterior motive. He knows about Snow and the other less than desirable facts about my life, and he's still happy to hold me in his arms and take me on a date. So even if this is a brief interlude of an unexpected and undeserved romance, I can't deny that I like it and even want it.

So I'll just enjoy and savor these moments I have with him, and I'll remember them later. I'm sure it'll make the heartbreak that will inevitably happen seem worth it.

"Peeta?" I ask, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Stop trying to tickle me with your voice. I know that's what you're trying to do."

"Oh, really?"

I slowly nod and feel deprived as he unclasps his hand from mine, draws back his arm from my body, and leans up, "I wasn't actually trying to do that, you know, but I'll try to stop _tickling _you with my _voice_."

"Good—"I start, tucking my arm under my head as a pillow.

I feel his hand go to my waist under the blanket and I freeze up. My eyes shoot open as he lifts my shirt, exposing my bare midriff.

"I didn't promise _anything_ about tickling you with my _fingers_, though!" Peeta replies with a hearty laugh. I flip over and try to remove his hand from my stomach through an instant and uncontrollable fit of giggles. I glance up at him for the first time this morning to see that his face is completely red, and his blue eyes are dancing with mischief.

His fingers continue to dance along my belly, making my sensitive skin crawl and the muscles beneath it spasm and jerk. I can't catch my breath or stop laughing, and he continues to chuckle at the tickling torture he's inflicting upon me. I try to remove his hand, but he's too strong.

"Peeta… STOP!" I attempt to threaten through giggles, "I swear… if you don't… STOP… I'm… going to KILL you!"

"Hearing your laugh would make death totally worth it," Peeta says with a wide grin and a shrug, and doesn't relent.

Through unsubsiding laughter, I remove my hands from his arm, knowing I can't get him to budge, and bring them both to his torso. I quickly lift his shirt and start in on tickling him back, running my fingertips over his bare, warm flesh and the coarse hair that runs in a line from his belly button, down further. I know I'd blush at this if I wasn't already red-faced from all the laughing, and I push the embarrassing thought from my head as soon as I think it. It's hard to tickle him because his belly is so hard and muscled; until now, I didn't even _know_ Peeta _had _muscles.

I guess I seem to be doing okay, though, because soon he's laughing and trying to remove my hands as I quickly and determinedly tickle him everywhere and anywhere on his stomach, being just as relentless as he's being with me.

"Truce! TRUCE, Katniss!"

"You… started this!" I say between laughter and gasps for air. "_You_ stop… and… and then _I_ will!"

"Fine… OKAY! _Okay_…."

His hand instantly stills just above my lower abdomen; his palm lying flat against the surface of my skin. My hands stop on his stomach, too, and I can feel his breath coming in short spurts and his heartbeat pulsating in his chest and vibrating under my fingertips. My own breathing is having a hard time coming back to normal, as well. And for a moment, he stares down at me and I back up at him; our questioning, curious eyes locked in place on one another's. I watch as his eyes slowly drift from mine and down to my mouth; he licks his bottom lip, looking surprisingly shy, and glances back up at my eyes as if in bewilderment.

And then, as if by some unstoppable force, we kiss each other. It's not initiated by one or the other, but simultaneous and magnetic. He leans down and I move up, and I find that this kiss has a sort of urgency to it, a passion that I didn't even know I had or was capable of.

At first, it's just a flurry of open-mouthed and lip-to-lip kisses. But then Peeta does something he's never done before; he slowly and deliberately runs his tongue along my bottom lip. I nervously join mine with his after a moment, running it timidly along the tip of his. I don't know what I'm doing, but it feels good and new and, right now, I just feel like I want _more_; I _need _to feel closer to him.

My breathing and heartbeat are both still erratic and show no signs of slowing down anytime soon, and my body is shaking. Our tongues and lips start to move together slowly and rhythmically; dancing with, licking, tasting, and discovering the other with a new-found courage and curiosity.

His hand starts to move up my torso, curving his fingers and gliding them like feathers along my skin. It tickles me, but not in the same way as before. While the other tickle moved up and out of my body with a laugh, this one moves down my body with a jolt and pulsates between my legs. I've never felt anything like it before, and it takes me by surprise. I bring my thighs together tightly, feeling embarrassed as everything starts to feel warm down there, and hoping Peeta doesn't notice the change in my demeanor.

I bring my own hands around to his back, sprawling my palms upon his skin and trying to bring him closer to me somehow. He doesn't budge, but I feel his muscles twitch beneath my fingers. His hand stops right at my rib-cage, just below the swell of my breasts. And though I know I really _shouldn't_, I find myself wishing he'd move up an inch or two and touch them. They almost ache with an overwhelming need to be felt. My back slightly arches as some sort of subconscious reaction and indication for him to continue upwards. He doesn't, though, but continues to trace small circles on my skin with his fingertips. Meanwhile, we never break away from our kissing, which has become slower and much more intimate than anything I've ever experienced in my entire life.

"Katniss?" I hear Prim's voice call out for me from upstairs.

As if struck by lightning, Peeta and I quickly separate and sit up, attempting to appear as normal and nonchalant as possible, but both failing miserably. I look over at him and give a small, shy smile. He grins back widely, his eyes a little glassy.

"Prim!" My voice comes out shaky and foreign sounding to me, "I'm down here!"

And now the day officially begins.

* * *

Peeta uses the upstairs bathroom, while Prim and I get ready downstairs. Luckily I planned ahead in case we were ever locked out of the trailer again by Snow, and had packed clothes for both of us in my backpack. We brush our teeth and braid our hair, and wait for Peeta, who seems to be taking an awfully long time. This is just as well, because I'm a little bit nervous to face him again after what happened between us this morning.

My mind is reeling and I'm still in shock about it all.

Prim keeps giving me questioning, knowing looks and I avoid her eyes. I don't want to have to explain anything to her just yet. My face is still red and I can't seem to get it to fade.

"Well, you and Peeta seem a little bit odd this morning," she suddenly states in a matter of fact way. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I reply.

She's silent for a moment, scrunching her eyebrows together in contemplation and glances back at me again as if trying to figure something out. "Did you sleep with him last night?"

"Prim!" I gasp in surprise, my eyes going wide. "I can't believe you'd ask that! And, no, I _didn't._"

"What's the big deal?" She's now looking even more suspiciously at me. "You and Gale sleep together all of the time." My heart feels a little relieved as I realize she was only asking an innocent question, but then her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open as a huge grin comes to her face. "Oh! You thought I meant _sex_, didn't you?"

She starts to giggle, and I quickly place a hand over her mouth. "Oh my GOD, Prim! Shut up. And don't ever say that word again! You shouldn't even know it! In fact, forget it right _now_."

She rolls her eyes as I drop my hand, "Geez, Katniss. I'm _not _a baby."

"To me, you are. And I don't want to hear you say that word."

"Which word?" Prim challenges me.

"You _know _perfectly well _which word_, and I am not going to say it."

"Nope, still not sure. You're going to have to tell me."

"Prim! You are being childish."

"Sleep? Gale? Peeta? There are _so many_ words, Katniss—"

"_S-e-x_," I spell out in a harsh whisper as my cheeks get even redder. "Now stop being silly! Really, what has gotten into you here lately?"

"Nothing has gotten into _me_. But as for _you_, I think Peeta would like—"I know where her sentence is heading, and feel my heart start to palpitate. I quickly bring my hand to her mouth again, and shake my head in warning.

"Don't you _dare _finish that with what I think you're going to!" I remove my hand from her mouth and rub my eyes to rid the stress and sleepiness from them. I honestly can't believe how Prim is being this morning. "You're _seriously_ pushing it!"

"I learnt about it in Health class, by the way. And _everyone_ at school talks about it—"

"I don't _care_," I tell her sternly, feeling extremely awkward and uncomfortable even having this sort of conversation with my innocent little sister. "Don't say it again."

"Sex!" Prim says with a rebellious smirk, "Sex, sex, sex, sex—"

I place my hand over her mouth again, and am fully ready to tell her how immature she's being, when I hear Peeta clear his throat from behind me.

"That's a... uh… interesting conversation," he remarks, an amused and confused expression on his face. "Um, do I even _want_ to know…?"

I quickly shake my head, suddenly very self-conscious, and turn to Prim to see her eyes go wide with embarrassment.

Good - serves her right for being so bold.

* * *

The rest of the morning goes by in quiet, awkward silence between the three of us. Prim's face is as red as a cherry and she hasn't said one word since. Peeta makes us some eggs and toast, and we follow it with some cinnamon rolls. He brews some coffee to wake us up a little more, and I am happy to drink it.

Before long, Mr. Mellark arrives and drives us all to school. I listen from the backseat as he and Peeta have a discussion about what to do in regards to the slashed tires and setting up security cameras. Mr. Mellark agrees that this is a necessary thing to do, and reassures Peeta that he'll have them set up along the building by this evening. He also states that he'll get Peeta's tires replaced and will drop the car off at the school during lunch time. I can tell there's much more that they'd like to discuss, but they're avoiding the subject around Prim and me. I'm more than a little suspicious and curious, but I know better than to ask.

When we get to school, Peeta and I sit at our regular desk in first hour. Clove glances back at us occasionally with a knowing smirk, but doesn't say anything. She keeps whispering to the girl next to her, though, and then they laugh. I hate the sound of it, and try to block it out.

It doesn't take much to do, actually.

I have so many thoughts running through my head. I can't seem to stop thinking about Peeta, and what's happening between us, or the fearful thoughts of how Snow is going to react when Prim and I get home tonight. And then, for some odd reason, I think of Gale and feel a little guilty, and then resentful because of it. He's my best friend, though, and I wish I could tell him about all of this. But he doesn't seem to like Peeta, so I know I can't.

We don't get to talk much during class, but every so often, when everyone's attention is on the teacher, he reaches over and gently squeezes my hand with his. I'll glance over at him and he'll give me an adorable, shy, encouraging smile, as if to reassure me that everything will be all right. And somehow, when I look at him and feel his hand on mine, it seems like it will be.

At the end of class, Clove finally turns back to us and asks with meaning, "Have an interesting night? Or did things fall a little… _flat_?"

I'm livid. I want to punch the smirk right off of her face. I doubt she did it all on her own, but I know that she had _something_ to do with Peeta's tires being slashed. No question about it.

I expect Peeta to lash out in anger, but he only smiles and replies in an overly saccharine and calm voice, "I had a very wonderful and incredible night, Clove. Thanks for asking, how kind and thoughtful of you."

She looks confused for a moment, but doesn't say anything else. She rolls her eyes and walks out of the classroom.

* * *

At lunchtime, I opt to stay in the library. Mr. Mellark drops Peeta's car off, but Peeta has to drive him back to the bakery. I know they obviously have a lot to discuss that I shouldn't be privy to, and I feel like I'd be intruding if I join them. Peeta insists that I wouldn't be, but I tell him that I'd like to finish up a book report, and he doesn't object any further. In fact, he seems a little relieved at my excuse.

The rest of the day goes by rather quickly. For the most part, I don't really notice anyone else or pay any attention to what's going on around me. My mind is full and I can't seem to process anything else.

Soon enough, it's the end of the day and Peeta, Prim, and I are at the bakery again.

Mr. Mellark takes no time at all in showing the camera installations to Peeta as soon as we get there. When we walk inside, he excitedly calls me to the backroom for something. Peeta smiles knowingly, but doesn't say anything. He just nods his head in gesture for me to follow his dad. I'm suddenly very nervous.

"Well, Miss Katniss, how was your first week here? Peeta seems quite taken with you and says you're doing an excellent job."

"I don't know about all of that. Peeta always says nice things," I reply with a shy smile, not daring to look up at Mr. Mellark's face. I'm sure he's quite aware of how "taken" his son is with me, and it's a little embarrassing. "But I _do_ love working here. It's… wonderful. Thank you for hiring me."

"Well, we're both hoping you'll be a permanent fixture around here, so I'm pleased to hear that you're fond of the place," he warmly tells me.

I nod, but I don't say anything. I don't really know _what_ to say.

"Anyway, without further ado, I want to show my appreciation for all your hard work," he says with a wink and reaches into his pocket. He retrieves his wallet and opens it. My eyes go wide in realization that he's getting ready to pay me. I know this is a job and all, but I had been enjoying it so much that I guess it temporarily escaped my thoughts that I'd be compensated for being here. He takes out some money and hands it to me.

"I think that should be sufficient enough. If it isn't, feel free to let me know. And never be afraid to ask for a loan or any sort of help if you need it," he tells me, and then continues with humor in his voice, "I _do_ like to treat my employees like family, you know."

I give a small, nervous laugh, and feel my hands shake as they hold the money.

I count what he had given me…

This is too much. _Way_ too much. I can't accept this. He _obviously_ made a mistake…

"Mr. Mellark!" I start with a weird sort of panic.

"Call me Avory, dear."

"I… I can't take this! I think you made a mistake. This is way, _way_ too much! There are 500 dollars here—"

"No mistake," Mr. Mellark assures me, "You more than earned it."

"But… but I've only been here for a _week_!" I continue in a high-pitched voice that I can't control, feeling overwhelmed. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but it's not from being hurt or sad. I feel unbelievably happy and grateful, and I never expected this at all. "This is… this is _way_ too much!"

He shakes his head, "I told you that I'd compensate well, and I don't like going back on my word."

I swallow loudly, trying to blink back the tears, but one falls down my cheek anyway. I wipe it away in an instant and answer with a small, "Thank you… so much. I don't know what to say."

"You're perfectly welcome, Miss Katniss," he answers with sincerity. Shrugging, he changes his tone and continues, "Anyway, I'm really sorry that you and your sister were stuck here last night. So to show my apologies, and because I know that money is probably burning a hole in your pocket about now, I've told Peeta that you all can have the night off—"

"But I—"

"You'll get paid as you normally would for the night," he tells me, "I think you could all use a little breather after everything yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now you three go have some fun, okay?"

I nod and slowly make my way to the door, almost expecting him to tell me he's joking and take everything back.

"Oh, and Katniss?" I quickly turn back around to face Mr. Mellark, biting my lip.

"Yes?"

"Will you do me a huge favor?" He seems nervous and won't meet my eyes all of a sudden.

"I guess."

"Can you… can you tell your mother that Avory says hello?"

I nod, but don't know what to say.

* * *

Peeta insists on taking us somewhere to eat, and asks where we'd like to go. I haven't eaten in a restaurant since before my father died, and haven't a clue, so I tell him anywhere is fine.

We wind up at a local pizza buffet and arcade because, he tells me, "Everyone loves pizza and games."

We're sitting in a booth; he's on one side, and Prim and I are on the other. I feel self-conscious about eating in public, and barely touch my food. I seem to have lost my appetite just thinking of everyone staring at me.

"Please tell me you're going to eat more than two slices," Peeta tells me with a playful grin, "I mean, _Prim_ has eaten more than you."

I bite my lip and look over at her. She grins widely, obviously pleased with the pile of pizza she had already devoured. She's so tiny, I have no idea where she's putting it all.

"Yep!" She happily replies, her face glowing, "And going back for more!"

She stands with determination and challenge, and picks up her plate to head back over to the buffet bar.

"See?" Peeta gestures towards Prim, making her an example. "_That's_ the spirit!"

He raises a hand up for her to high-five, which she does with a gleeful giggle, and then practically skips over to fill her plate again.

"I just don't like people watching me eat," I awkwardly explain to Peeta. I stare down at my plate, feeling my cheeks turn hot. "I feel like a pig—"

"You _can't_ be serious!" Peeta laughs and shakes his head. I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. "We're at a buffet, people _expect _you to be a pig! Anyway, no one's watching you, Katniss, and it really _wouldn't_ hurt you to gain a few pounds."

I arch an eyebrow at him, "Do you not like my body, Peeta?"

His eyes go wide and he vigorously shakes his head.

"I _love _your body!" He closes his eyes, looking instantly embarrassed by his choice of words. I try not to laugh at him. He continues, opening one eye to peek over at me, as if he's wary that I'm mad at him. "Um… I mean, you have a very, _very_ nice body, Katniss. I'm just saying—"

All of a sudden, I feel more at ease and want to make him feel a little more comfortable, too. I want to show that I'm not angry with him and was only joking.

"If I eat a couple more pieces will you be happy?" I ask him with a small, timid smile.

"As a clam!"

I roll my eyes and stand up with my plate to go meet Prim at the food bar. I turn to him and ask with amusement, "Are clams all that happy, Peeta? _Really_, are they?"

* * *

We all eat a few more slices before Peeta takes his wallet out and hands Prim a twenty dollar bill. She looks at him with confusion, and so do I.

"Here, why don't you go put this in the coin exchange machine and get a head start on some of the arcade games?"

Her mouth drops open as she looks down at the money in her hand and then back at Peeta.

"Really? Are you sure?" He nods without a second-thought, appearing amused by her reaction. She turns to me and asks "Katniss, is it okay?"

I shrug and release a breath. I glance over at him and frown, "Peeta, you _really_ don't have to. You already paid for dinner, and I can _more_ than pay for the games—"

He holds a hand up to silence me, and shakes his head.

"No. This was all my idea to come here, and everything is on me tonight," he insists. "Now go have fun and kick some butt, Prim. I'll be over in a few, all right?"

She grins widely and practically bounces where she stands.

"You're the best ever, Peeta! Thank you so much!" she says with excitement before heading off to play.

When she's gone, I turn to Peeta and smile shyly at the thought that this is the first time we've really been alone together since this morning.

"So… I guess this is our first date? It's _really _nice—"

"Oh _no_. No, no, no," he replies with a wink before reaching over and placing his hand on top of mine, gently caressing my skin with his thumb. "This is just a friendly outing. I mean, I guess you can call it a date if you want. But I have something more special in mind."

"Like what?"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"Well, I hope you like this one."

"When is this surprise date supposed to happen then?"

He's thoughtful for a moment and shrugs, seeming hopeful, "Tomorrow evening? Would that be okay with you?"

"Maybe," I answer with a sigh. I'm not really sure at all, though. I don't know what to expect when I get home. It all depends on Snow and what kind of mood he's in. I won't be telling him I'm going on a date, of course. I'll tell him I have to work mandatory overtime for a commission sale. I just hope he'll buy it. After I give him some money, I'm sure he'll be happy to let me make more. At least I hope that's the case. "It should be. But… what about Prim?"

"Not that I don't adore your sister," Peeta starts with a grin, "But I kind of want to have a date with only the two of us. Would either of you be opposed to her staying at the bakery with Dad for a few hours? He'd be happy to teach her a few things in the kitchen—"

"I doubt she'd mind." I do feel a little awkward with Mr. Mellark knowing that Peeta is taking me on a date, though. "But I'd hate to impose—"

"He won't mind at all," Peeta states before I can finish. "Trust me. And if you're feeling weird about him thinking it's a date, don't. I'll only tell him I'm taking you out as a friend, if that makes you feel better?"

I nod and shrug at the same time, "It does, actually. Thanks. I'll ask Prim about it all later."

"Good," he tells me and then asks, "Do you have a phone or a way I can reach you?"

My stomach instantly twists. Here goes another reason why I'm _not_ normal.

"No," I quietly answer. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," he reassures me and reaches into his pocket. He retrieves a small, sleek black cell phone and hands it to me. I hold it in my open palm and look at him with a raised eyebrow. What does he want me to do with it? He smiles and answers my thoughts, "Actually, I was kind of planning on that. And even if you _did_ happen to have a phone at home, I wanted you to have this anyway. In case there's an emergency and you need to call me; kind of like a secret phone."

I stare down at it and flip it over in my hands a few times in disbelief.

"This is for me?" I glance back at him and he nods. I shake my head and try to hand it back. "Peeta, this is way too much. I can't accept this."

He places his hand over mine, curving my fingers over the phone.

"You can and you will. I added it to my plan today at lunch; I'll take care of the bill and everything. I just don't like the idea of you not being able to call for help if you need it," he replies, quietly and seriously. He leans in a bit closer, "Katniss, please don't _ever_ hesitate to call or text me if you need to, _anytime_, day or night. I'm here for you. Even if you don't _need_ to, if you just want someone to _talk_ to—"

I slowly nod, glancing down at our hands.

"Don't laugh at me," I start with a twinge of embarrassment, "But I don't really know _how_ to use a phone."

He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, before letting his hand linger on my cheek. I meet his sincere, kind eyes with mine.

"I'd _never_ laugh at you. And I'll show you how; it isn't hard at all. Right now I have it set to silent so certain people won't hear it; I figured you might appreciate that. My cell is on speed-dial, by the way—"

I'm about to say something in reply when I feel a heavy hand land on my shoulder and give it a squeeze.

I'm almost afraid to look; I hold my breath as I dare to glance over.

I was right to feel anxious.

It's Coin; the head of the local police Department, and the man who helped raise Snow.

I feel my heart skip a beat and leap into my throat. I look down at the table quickly, hoping Peeta remains quiet. I kick him very gently under the table as a sort of warning. I hide my hands and the phone out of view.

"Hey kiddo," he says with fake sentiment. His grip tightens on my shoulder, and his actions speak louder than his words. "You been keepin' your nose clean and outta trouble lately?"

What he means by that is, '_keep your mouth shut or you'll get in trouble.'_

"Yes, sir," I quickly answer, attempting to smile and appear normal. I glance over at Peeta, who is now frowning. I can tell he knows something is wrong, but I'm not sure if he knows why.

"That's an attitude I like," he replies and meaningfully raises his thick, grey eyebrows, "Heard you went and got yourself a job. Good on you, kid! Now, you keep your eyes and ears on the narrow, you hear, and know the Department's always watchin' out."

Meaning, '_stay silent or we'll make your life hell.'_

"I know," I tell him with a nod, "I will."

I almost wince as he squeezes my shoulder with intensity one more time as a warning, and then releases me.

He turns to Peeta with a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"As for you, boy; keep it up. Y'all have the best doughnuts around," he compliments with false sincerity. "In fact, the Department might start dropping by more often to give 'yins some more business. Least we can do, now you have this little firecracker workin' for ya."

They'll be stopping by, all right, but it has _nothing_ to do with doughnuts.

"Thank you, sir," Peeta answers with a polite smile, but his voice comes out with a certain iciness and indifference. He then turns to me and says, "Well, we should be heading back to work. We're just on a lunch break—"

I nod, grateful that Peeta had taken the hint and basically saved me. If Snow found out that I was hanging out with a boy instead of working, he wouldn't be at all happy.

Coin nods his head forward and walks off a bit.

"Right. Well, I best be off, too." He looks at me like a snake trying to mimic a bunny rabbit, "You just keep yourself out of unnecessary trouble, all right? You give your daddy my greetings."

As he walks away and out of the restaurant, I have the strong urge to cry. Though his words were kind and thoughtful in appearance, between the lines, I had just been threatened.

Peeta comes around to my side of the booth in an instant, and envelops his arms around me, bringing me into a hug. I know we're in public, but I don't care; I let him. I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face into his chest as he kisses the top of my head.

And I know that he knows, without me having to say anything at all, that the encounter I just had was not a good one.

Finally he says, "We really need to discuss a lot of things tomorrow, Katniss. I need some answers. I want to help you…."

I nod, but remain silent.

I trust him, but I'm still scared.

* * *

After playing a few games with Prim, and trying to at least enjoy ourselves a little after the meeting with Coin, Peeta reluctantly drives us home. Things are silent the whole ride until we reach the driveway.

He turns in, and I shake my head, "Peeta. You know better. Let us out here."

"At least half-way?" He tenderly asks. I glance over at him and can see the worry and fear for us written on his face.

"This is good. We'll be fine," I reassure, but I don't feel anything that I'm saying.

He stops the car and closes his eyes as I open the door. I get out and turn to him, attempting to smile, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He nods and attempts to smile, too, but it seems forced. "I hope."

When Prim and I finally make our way to the trailer, I feel my heart give a sigh of relief. I don't see Snow's truck anywhere, which means he's not home. There's a possibility he was never here last night, and doesn't even know we never came home.

Prim seems as excited and happy as I feel at this hopeful revelation, skipping slightly ahead of me.

When we walk into the trailer, I'm startled to see someone standing in the kitchen.

Someone I completely did _not_ expect to see.

My mom is standing still in one spot, her frail, emaciated frame swaying back and forth as if she might fall over at any given moment; all it would take is a slight breeze. She's so weak and skinny, with virtually no muscle mass, that I have no idea how she's standing at all, really.

"Mom?" I ask in surprise. "What are you doing up?"

Her vacant, dead blue eyes light up in an instant; staring over at me as if seeing a memory. She's not really looking _at_ me, but looking _through_ me. I can't quite explain it, but it's eerie and makes my stomach feel sick.

"Valena!" She exclaims in a cracked, fragile voice, "I haven't seen you in so long! Is this one of your girls? Oh, isn't she the most _precious _thing—"

She comes over to Prim and pats her head with skeletal fingers. Her sunken eyes shine with a slight sparkle of her former self, but I know it's a lie. This has happened before, but not often, and it's always temporary. It's usually only when Snow has been gone for a while, and hasn't been around to keep her sedated. She only remembers the past when she's like this, and seems to block out any time after her marriage to him.

She almost always refers to me as Valena; my dad's older sister. I barely remember her, but only enough to know that we resemble each other quite a bit. Or we _did_. Aunt Valena died of cancer two years before my dad died in the mines.

"It's me, Prim. I'm your daughter," I hear my sister start to explain in a hopeful, yet sad tone, "Don't you remember?" She talks to Mom as if she were speaking to a small child.

Mom glances down at her and tries to smile, but it's an echo of one. It's not real, and it doesn't meet her eyes. It stretches the tight skin of her face in a way that looks like it'd be painful.

"You know, my little Kitty-Kat wears her hair in two braids, just like you," she says, and absently runs her hands down the length of Prim's braids. My mom's own hair is matted in blond, thin clumps around her head. "It's not often she gets to play with girls around her own age, so I know she'd just _love_ to meet you. She should be getting home from school any moment now."

As she says this, she looks at a wall that has nothing on it, as if seeing a clock there.

I try to remind her who we are, though I know it's impossible and it'll never happen.

"Mom, I'm Katniss. This is Prim," I introduce us in a slow voice, feeling tears start to form in my eyes; which is silly. I _should_ be used to this. I shake my head, knowing she doesn't understand me at all. She doesn't know who we are as we stand in front of her. She only remembers us as the little girls we once were when she was happy. Our names only belong to characters in a story that she replays in her head, "You should probably be lying down—"

I move over to try to brace her and help her back into bed. She moves back and raises a hand as if hearing something in the distance, but all there is is dead silence.

"Oh! There's the oven timer. You're just in time for the cookies! I don't mean to brag, but I learned from the absolute best—"She moves over to the corner of the kitchen and opens an imaginary oven, retrieving air that she believes and sees as a tray of baked goods.

Prim starts to sob, and runs over to Mom, hugging her around the waist. And though Prim is tiny and frail herself, she looks quite healthy in comparison.

"Mom! Listen to Katniss, I'm Prim. I'm your daughter," she says in a rush, as tears run down her cheeks. She glances up at Mom and pleads with her eyes and words, "I love you! _Please _remember me?"

Mom looks unmoved and only holds the imaginary tray of cookies above Prim's head, "Careful, dear, you'll get burned!" She then sniffs the putrid air around us. Snow hasn't emptied the toilet bucket in a while, and I can't lift it. "Mmmm, doesn't that smell delicious?"

"There aren't any cookies! It's not _real_, Mom. _We're_ real; _I'm_ real—"Prim starts to exclaim with determination and annoyance.

Mom's empty eyes seem puzzled for a second as she looks over at me with a tilt of her head.

"Valena, is your daughter feeling ill? She's welcome to go lie down in Katty's room for a while," she suggests, placing the imaginary cookies on a counter that doesn't exist. She pats Prim's head and glances back over at me, "Vance should be home soon, by the way. He's off goofing around with Gaston, and you _know_ how they can get—"

She's starting to talk about Dad and Gaston Hawthorne, Gale's dad, and I can't take it anymore. It's hard enough seeing the living walk around like they're dead; I can't take her talking about the dead as if they're living.

"Mom," I start, gulping back a sob that is determined to escape my throat. I know she won't understand anything I say, but I have to say it anyway, "I'm _not _Aunt Valena; she's _dead_. Dad's _dead._ Gaston Hawthorne is _dead_. I'm _Katniss_ and this is _Prim._ I'm _seventeen_ and she's _eleven_, and you're married to _Snow_—"

She shakes her head and gives a hollow cough of a laugh. She waves her hand, her body trembling from the exertion of standing for so long.

"Snow? Don't be silly; it's too warm for that. Here, try one of these," she reaches out to give me air. I shake my head and let a tear fall. I can't help it. I _should_ be used to this, but I'm not. I never will be. She reaches for my hand and opens it, placing an invisible cookie in my palm with her icy cold hands, "Go on, bite into it, and tell me that isn't the dreamiest tasting—"

"MOM! Listen to Katniss! Everyone is _dead_, and there aren't any cookies! Please remember us, please take us and leave here, and we'll never look back!" Prim starts again with desperation in her voice. She hugs Mom tighter and sobs into her chest. She looks up at her with innocent, wide eyes, hoping and trying with all her childlike might to bring Mom to her senses, "He _hits_ us, Mom! He hurts us and I'm tired of it. He tried to _kill_ Katniss. Just… _please_ be normal again… for us? You loved us a long time ago. Remember? Please… _please_… please remember. I know you could, if you tried hard enough."

Mom looks down at her and gives her an emotionless smile as if not really hearing her words at all. Prim closes her eyes and starts crying harder, shaking her head.

"Prim—"I move over to pull her away, knowing she's hoping for something that is pointless, and she's only going to end up disappointed. I place my hands on her shoulders, but Prim shrugs me away and clings to Mom even tighter.

"Leave me alone, Katniss!" She yells at me, and explains with longing desolation, "I want her to remember! We just have to make her _remember_, and then we can finally leave."

"Aren't you an affectionate little sweetheart?" Mom finally speaks again, and it comes out thin and airy, as if her body is too weak to even support her voice anymore, "Just like my little Kitty Kat; always giving hugs and kisses away, even to complete strangers." My body is shaking and I close my eyes to try to block out what she's saying. I hate when she talks about me when I was a child. I was totally different then; carefree, sweet, and loving. I had no reason not to be. I didn't know heartache then; my heart only knew love and laughter and hope.

"Oh, you should have seen it Val! Katniss kissed the youngest Mellark boy because he gave her a butterfly cupcake last Sunday, and I swear the little cherub blushed ten shades of red. By the time we left, he was professing his undying love for her, and she said she'd marry him only if he made her a butterfly cupcake every day. It was the cutest thing ever—"

My eyes snap open at this. Surely I heard wrong? She can't be talking about Peeta. I don't remember this at all. Maybe it's a figment of her imagination? I wonder if Peeta remembers? My mind is reeling. I don't know what to believe anymore.

"Is she talking about you and Peeta?" Prim looks back at me with red eyes and blotchy cheeks. She narrows her eyes in confusion. "I didn't know you knew each other before. Does Mom know Mr. Mellark?" She glances up at Mom and asks slowly and loudly, "Do you know Mr. Mellark, Mom?"

"Prim, stop. She's not in her right mind—"

"Duh, Katniss! She's _never_ in her right mind!" Prim replies harshly, her hope and desperation starting to turn to anger and resentment, "I guess she doesn't _love_ us enough—"

"Stop it."

"It's true!"

"It's not. She just doesn't know any different."

"Because she doesn't care to! She doesn't care if we get hurt or if we die—"

"And I told Avory we'd have to keep an eye on them from now on. Kisses are cute when they're seven, but at seventeen—"

"Mom, please," I plead, feeling my stomach twist into knots. I want so badly to be able to sit down and have a heart-to-heart, and tell her about Peeta; about my first kiss, my first job, my first boyfriend, and the nervousness and cluelessness I feel at having a first date. But I _know_ I can't. I don't have that luxury. I move over and wrap my arm around her shoulder, trying to direct her to her bedroom. "Come on, let's go lie down, okay? Let's get some rest."

Prim lets go of her and stands back, her arms crossed. She looks disdainfully at Mom, and her eyes look so much older than she is.

"She _hates_ us. If she _really_ loved us, she would have left Snow in the beginning. She wouldn't have stayed and—"

I turn to her and shake my head, feeling my patience run out. I'm doing my best to keep my own composure, I can't do it for both of us.

"Now is _not_ the time, Prim. I need to get her back in bed in case Snow comes home."

"Why? Let Snow hurt _her_ for a change! Maybe she'll remember something about us. It's all her fault things are like this, anyway! She's a _horrible _mother, the _worst_—"

"He _shouldn't_ be hurting _anyone_!" I yell at her with a harsh edge to my voice. I know Prim is just angry and hurt, but her insults rub me the wrong way. I feel defensive, knowing the mother I used to have at one time. She was amazing; the most amazing mother anyone could ever hope to have. She _did_ love us. She loved us dearly at one point in time, and I don't doubt that. I look back at Mom with nostalgia clawing at my insides. She's basically a ghost of her former self, and I know she'll never be the same again. "And she wasn't _always_ like this. At one time she was _a really_ good Mom, you know."

"So what? It doesn't help us now. Besides, all she remembers is stuff about _you_, Katniss! She doesn't even remember _me_ at all."

Prim's lips tremble and a small involuntary cry escapes her throat, despite trying to appear cool and unmoving. I know she doesn't mean anything she's saying; she just feels lost. She just wants her Mom to remember her. After all, I _had_ time with Mom and got to know who she was before all of this. She lost her mind when Prim was really young, though, and I realize that she never really got to know Mom at all.

And I wonder which is worse: knowing the greatness of someone, and watching their light slowly fade away, or never witnessing the light to begin with.

I release Mom, who now seems to be in a sort of catatonic, motionless state, and move over to Prim to comfort her.

"She does, too, Little Duck," I softly tell her, trying to bring her into a hug. She's rigid in my arms, though, "Deep down, she remembers. She just doesn't right _now_—"

Prim shakes away from my embrace, narrowing her eyes at both of us as she backs away towards the bedroom.

"I take back what I said; I _don't_ love her! She doesn't even _know _who I am! I _hate_ her, I _hate_ Snow, I _hate_ living here, I _hate_—"

"Shut up!" I can't take sweet little Prim, my normally very caring and loving baby sister, speaking like this. I understand why she feels that way, I just can't handle it. It makes this situation ten times harder to deal with.

"I hate _you_, too!" She tells me, and I feel my heart break into a million pieces. Never, in her whole life, had Prim ever told me she'd hated me. I'm speechless as tears cloud over my eyes. "We could leave here and stay with Peeta, and be _happy_, but you stay here for _her_—"

It's not that simple. She has to know it can _never_ be that simple.

I wish it was.

Tears pour down my cheeks as I lose any remaining composure I have.

Prim goes into our bedroom and slams the door behind her.

"We're all going to die here, Kitty-Kat," Mom replies monotonously all of a sudden, and as I turn to her, she collapses to the ground; her body finally losing its strength and giving out.


	21. The First Date (Part 1)

_Chapter Twenty-One_

**The First Date (Part 1)**

"_**The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you." **_—_**Charlie Brown **_

I tuck Mom safely into bed, managing to get her to eat a couple of cheese buns and drink a glass of water, before making my way to comfort Prim. After the initial shock and heartbreak of hearing such harsh words from her, I quickly regained my composure and wiped the tears away. It'll do no good for me to be weak and take her misdirected anger personally. I know that she really didn't mean anything that she said, and was merely lashing out due to the hopelessness of the situation. I can't blame her for feeling the way she does; I remember being her age and the desperation I felt as Mom was gradually slipping away from me— along with the increasing amounts of abuse from Snow, and the constant, prevailing hunger.

Prim has never _known_—or can't remember—a life that's different than this, though. She can't recall the comforting love of a mother and father, true security, or a happy home. I'm all she's ever had for emotional support while growing up and, even though I've tried, I know I'm not always the most affectionate person at times. I'm not perfect. And I suppose the taste of normalcy she's been experiencing lately— the safety of the bakery and the kindness of the Mellarks— makes her resentful of our horrible circumstances. I can't say that I blame her for it. I feel the same way, but I also know there isn't a quick fix for it all, either.

I walk into our bedroom and make my way over to the side of her cot. She has a cover pulled up over her head, but I can see her tiny body shaking beneath it and hear her muffled sobs. I kneel down next to her and gently pull the blanket down in order to see her face. She attempts to pull them back up, but I grip the fabric tightly in my hands. Giving up, she flips over onto her other side to avoid me. I release an exasperated sigh and soothingly rub her back as she continues to cry.

"Prim_… please_ look at me?"

"No." She gasps for air between sobs, and her voice is hoarse and weak. "Just leave me alone, Katniss."

I shake my head and run my hand down one of her unkempt braids.

"You _know_ I'm not going to do that," I tell her. "I'd like to leave here just as much as you, but you know why we _can't_, and it has _nothing_ to do with Mom. Look, I know you're upset and you just want things to get better. I do, too. We're going to find a way out of this, I promise you. It might not be tomorrow or even next week, but it _will_ happen, all right? Don't think I'm staying around here because I like it. You know I hate it as much as you do. Things are just _really_ messed up and we're stuck for now. And getting Peeta involved would only put him in danger; you _know _that. Do you want him to get hurt? _I_ don't. I'd feel really horrible, and I know you would, too."

She doesn't say anything, but sniffles loudly and continues to sob.

Prim _isn't_ ignorant of our circumstances. She knows _exactly_ why we can't leave or say anything to anyone. She hears the threats given to me by Snow, and also receives them herself from time to time. She's fully aware of Coin's corruption, too. I try to shelter her away from as much as I can to protect whatever innocence she still has, but there's only so much I can do. There isn't a whole lot I can really hide from her, and besides, hiding things would only make the situation a lot more dangerous for us.

I stand up and move around to the other side of the cot in an attempt to face her again. I bring my hand to her cheek and wipe some of the tears away. She doesn't open her eyes, though, but seems to cry harder. I kiss her tenderly on the forehead, and lightly lean my own onto hers.

"I love you more than _anything _in this world, Prim," I try to console her. "And I also know you really don't hate me. Mom also loves you, too, whether you want to believe it or not."

"No, she doesn't," she answers in a small voice between sobs.

"Yes, she _does_," I counter confidently. "At one time, before all of this, you were the apple of her eye, you know. She used to carry you around everywhere with her. I actually used to get a little jealous because of it." I kiss her cheek and lean back. I smooth some tear-drenched tendrils of hair away from her eyes, "Little Duck, you _know_ she can't help the way she is."

"I don't _care_," she mumbles, bringing an arm up to cover her face.

I look around the room, not sure of what else to say or do, and release a long breath. I've never been very good at this sort of thing. I don't know _how_ to comfort people when I know that their feelings are completely valid. Hell, I'm not good at comforting people _at all_, period. Still, I don't like seeing Prim so heartbroken, and I want to make her smile again.

Something quickly dawns on me that I _know_ will probably make her perk up in a split second. Besides, I'm going to have to tell her by tomorrow anyway. She's going to wonder why I'm dropping her off at the bakery with Mr. Mellark for a few hours by herself, after all. I only hope she doesn't say anything to embarrass me. Right now, though, that's the last thing on my mind. I just want her to stop crying.

"Look, I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to go blabbing or making a big deal out of it," I say in my best attempt at a cheerful voice. This seems to get her attention. She slowly brings her arm down from her face and opens her bloodshot eyes, glancing over at me suspiciously and curiously.

"What is it?" she croakily asks.

I lean down closer to her and give a shy smile.

"Peeta asked me to be his girlfriend last night," I quietly tell her with a shrug, feeling my cheeks start to turn red. "And… I told him yes."

In an instant, Prim sits up and throws her arms around my neck in a tight hug.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so _happy_ for you!" She pulls back to look at me, her eyes beaming with excitement. The frown and tears have stopped, though her face is still red and wet. She grins widely and continues, "So _that's_ why you both were acting so weird this morning!"

I can't exactly tell her the _real_ reason why Peeta and I were acting weirdly, so I simply nod in reply.

"He's _so_ nice and handsome and _sweet_! You must feel like the luckiest girl _ever_! I know_ I_ would," Prim gushes enthusiastically. She hugs me again and kisses my cheek, "I can't _believe _Peeta's your boyfriend now! That's _so_ great, Katniss!"

"I don't know how I feel about it all just yet," I admit. "He makes me feel like a totally different person sometimes, but in a good way. It… it scares me a little." I nervously fiddle with a frayed end of the blanket and avoid her eyes. "I _do_ like him, though…." I instantly feel a bit silly for telling all of this to Prim. She's basically still a child, after all, and I know she can't really give me any serious advice on how I should feel or what to do. Still, she's the _only_ girl I can talk to about any of this, and I just feel like I need to tell _someone_.

"Why? Don't be scared. Be happy!" Prim assures me. "Peeta really likes you, too. And I _know_ he'd never treat you bad."

"I know he wouldn't." I bite the inside of my lip and shrug. "I think that's what scares me, actually. I expect him to… to treat me bad, like other people. But he only gets sweeter. I don't know why."

"Because that's who he is," Prim answers as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "He's just like that. You shouldn't be scared of Peeta being nice to you." A sudden mischievous grin takes over her face, "Instead, you should _kiss_ him!"

"Prim!" I laugh and shake my head.

"What? You _should_!" she insists in a dreamy tone. "_A lot_! He's so handsome and sweet. If he was _my_ boyfriend, I'd kiss him _all_ the time, every chance I could _get._"

My mouth drops open and I'm speechless for a moment. I know my little sister is growing up, but I'll never get used to her talking about boys like this; even _if_ I know she's only joking.

"Geez! Getting a tad boy crazy there, aren't you?" I tease and stick my tongue out at her. I then arch an eyebrow and playfully threaten, "Anyway, keep your lips away from my boyfriend, Primrose Everdeen! He's too old for you."

"I know, I know. But I _still_ think he's great and I _still_ think you should kiss him a lot," she giggles.

I blush just thinking about it, but I find myself thinking about what happened between us this morning, and really wanting to take Prim's advice.

* * *

I wake up the next morning feeling butterflies swarming in my stomach. I look at the phone that Peeta had given to me yesterday and notice that there are two messages—one from last night and one from this morning. The one from last night says, '_Hope all is well. Thinking of you! Can't wait for tomorrow. Sweet dreams.' _And the one from this morning says, _'Good morning. Are we still on for this evening?' _It takes me a moment to figure out how, but I send a quick reply of, '_Yes' _back to him. He instantly answers, '_Great! See you later. I'll text to you when ready.' _I tell him,_ 'OK.' _

Of course, this exchange was done with Prim looking over my shoulder the whole time, practically bouncing and unable to contain her excitement. When I finally told her about Peeta and me going on a date, I didn't think she'd ever shut up about it. Needless to say, she was more than cooperative when I asked if she'd be okay with staying at the bakery a few hours with Mr. Mellark.

We bathe ourselves in the lake, which is getting colder by the day as the end of September approaches. I also shave my legs and underarms with an old disposable razor. I don't want to go on my first date feeling all hairy, after all. I usually shave once every two weeks, sparing the few disposable razors I have and trying to make them last as long as I can. Prim hasn't started going through puberty yet and has pale hair anyway, so thankfully I haven't had to share. Now that I have money, though, I'll be able to buy new ones and I can use them more frequently.

Before I know it, evening comes and Peeta texts me to see if I'm ready to meet him at the end of the driveway. I tell him yes, feeling anxiety flood every part of my body. My mind and heart are racing, and I feel jittery all over. Luckily, Snow hasn't come home yet, so I don't have to explain anything to him. Prim keeps hugging and encouraging me, cheerfully reassuring that everything will be all right and not to worry. She also insists that I wear my hair down for the date, stating that Peeta will like it. I take her advice, but feel self-conscious about it. I know she's right, though. He _did _seem to like my hair down the last time he saw it that way.

I make sure to tell Prim not to say anything to Mr. Mellark about the way we live, about Snow, Mom's condition, or that Peeta and I are dating. She promises me that she'll stay quiet about everything and be on her best behavior. I don't doubt this, either. She may act up a little around me, but she's typically very quiet and well-mannered around grown-ups and people she barely knows.

When Peeta shows up, I nervously hold my breath as I get into the front seat of his car. He smiles brightly over at me, his sky-blue eyes twinkling with excitement. I can tell he wants to kiss me, but he's refraining because of Prim's presence.

I shyly smile back at him and manage a meek, "Hi…"

"Hey," he replies a little breathlessly. I notice his eyes are drawn to my hair; he seems very pleased that I wore it down.

"Oh, just kiss already!" Prim teases with a giggle from the back seat.

I turn around, raise my eyebrows, and shake my head in warning. She grins like a little imp, and I look over to see that Peeta is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

With a little more light-hearted razzing from Prim along the way, we finally arrive at the bakery. I remind her to be on her best behavior and she says that she will be. Mr. Mellark looks rather knowing about the whole situation, but he doesn't say anything or ask about it. He simply reassures me not to worry about Prim, and that she's not a bother at all. After some brief small talk, and awkward silence on my part, we eventually leave with Mr. Mellark telling us to be safe in a rather serious tone. I assure him that we will be, but Peeta just goes red and gives his dad a weird, embarrassed look. The whole exchange confuses me, but I don't ask about it.

Once we're both inside the car, Peeta leans over and captures my lips with his, bringing his hands to rest gently on both sides of my neck. After a second of hesitation, I bring my own hands to his shoulders and kiss him back.

When we part, he touches his forehead to mine and tells me, "I've wanted to do that since I first saw you this evening."

I don't know what to say so I just smile and look out the window as he starts the car.

"I see you wore your hair down," Peeta says after a few minutes on the road. I shrug and keep my gaze focused on the passing scenery; I notice we're going the opposite way from town.

"Prim said you might like it," I answer quietly.

"She's right. You should listen to Prim more often." His hand suddenly covers mine and gives it a small squeeze. He entwines our fingers together, and I feel my heart thump wildly against my ribcage. He gives me a timid, sweet smile and asks, "So… you care what I like, huh?"

"I guess I should, shouldn't I?" I timidly reply. "Since I'm your girlfriend now?"

"Say that again?"

"Say _what _again?"

"That you're my girlfriend now."

"I'm your girlfriend now," I repeat, and my stomach does a nervous flip.

It feels like I'm dreaming, and that I'll wake up at any moment. There's _no way_ this is my life. There's no way I'm Peeta Mellark's girlfriend, or that I'm actually going on a date. These things just don't happen to me. They _don't_… but they _are_. And I'm worried about how I'll pay for it all later.

* * *

"Where are we going?" I ask in confusion as Peeta turns onto the gravel road that we both live on. "Are you taking me back home?"

He smiles over at me and gives my hand a slight squeeze. "No. We're going to my house."

"We are? Why?"

He shrugs.

"I know you hate public places and the thought of people looking at you. I want you to feel comfortable and happy on our first date. I also just want to spend time with only you, with no one else around. Mom's gone for the rest of the weekend, and Proja's out of town for a game. We'll have the whole place to ourselves."

I'm relieved that our date will be a rather private one. He's right; I'm not much for crowds or public places. I'd be too worried and self-conscious about others looking at me and judging me that I probably wouldn't enjoy anything, or be able to truly relax. Also, with the way Coin ran into us at the pizza buffet yesterday, I honestly just don't feel very safe with having a date in public, either. I don't need it getting back to Snow, if it hasn't already.

Still, it also makes me overwhelmingly nervous and awkward to think that Peeta and I are going to be completely alone with each other for the first time; especially in his house.

* * *

When we finally arrive at the Mellarks' home and walk into the kitchen, I'm completely taken by surprise.

He has the dining room table elegantly set up with two sets of plates, silverware, and glasses. In the center stands a single rose in a crystal vase, and on either side stands two long, red candles in silver holders. I also see that there's fresh food already placed everywhere on the surface— though it's all covered with lids. The aroma is intoxicating and my stomach growls in anticipation.

I'm unable to think of a proper response. I didn't expect _this_. Not in the least. I didn't expect anything at _all_, really, but especially nothing _this_ romantic and thoughtful. Why would he do this for me? Why does he think I'm worth all of this? I will never understand...

I'm suddenly snapped out of my thoughts as Peeta brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it. My skin tingles pleasantly in the spot where his soft. warm lips make contact, and the butterflies in my stomach rush around in a frenzy as his eyes lock onto mine. I can feel the curve of his lips on my skin as he smiles up at me, and it's in such a sweet and sincere way that it overwhelms me a bit. I attempt to smile back, but I feel my mouth anxiously jerk and shake when I try to.

He moves his lips from my hand and continues to plant small kisses up the length of my arm. I'm flabbergasted by this obvious and intimate display of affection, and I don't know how to react. I _know_ he can feel my body tremble, though.

"Peeta…" I whisper without really knowing what to say next. Things are way too silent and intense at the moment, and it's strange for me; strange, yet wonderful. I've never experienced anything like it before, and I'm not really sure how to process it all.

He doesn't stop or say anything in reply, however. His lips reach my shoulder, and then he moves over to place one gentle lingering kiss on the side of my neck. The skin there is very sensitive, and it sends delightful tremors down my entire body, causing me to give a sudden gasp of surprise; as I do so, he takes the opportunity to kiss my open mouth. I close my eyes tightly and begin to move my lips with his in sudden fervor. He brings his arms around my waist and pulls me close against his chest. I rest my hands between his shoulder and neck, and let my body sink into all the new sensations it's experiencing. This is all so foreign to me, so strange and unreal; and yet when I'm like this with Peeta—when we kiss and when he holds me close to him— it seems like the most natural thing in the world. I don't fully understand it, but I won't question it, either.

When our lips eventually part, he leans his forehead onto mine and says quietly, "I'd really love to spend the whole night kissing you, but we should probably eat dinner before it gets too cold. I'm sure you're hungry, right?"

I look down to see his mouth curve up into a half-smile. I shrug and then lightly nod, not wanting to appear overly eager, but he's right; I haven't eaten anything all day and I feel famished, especially with the delicious scents wafting in the air all around me.

He releases me and walks to the table, gesturing for me to follow him. I slowly make my way over behind him, watching in silence as he lifts the lids off of all the prepared foods. Steam rises into the air as I take in the wondrous sight of the delectable feast that Peeta has so thoughtfully made for the occasion.

"I can't believe you did all this," I manage in an awed voice. "You _really_ didn't have to." I feel so speechless, it's a wonder I even got that much out. I sit down and simply stare in amazement of it all.

He comes over to me and kisses the top of my head.

"Yes, I did. What's a date without dinner?" He jovially asks, and then continues a little uncertainly, "I hope you like steak. I wasn't really sure what kind of food you'd want, and I didn't want to ruin the surprise. I tried to ask Prim about it, but she said that she didn't really know—"

"It's good, Peeta. Everything is amazing," I reassure him. I also find myself thinking, '_You're amazing, too'_ – which is true, but I don't say it out loud. I'm sure he's aware of just how wonderful he is anyway. Prim was completely right about what she said last night; I _do_ feel like the luckiest girl ever to be his girlfriend. I really don't deserve him.

He places a huge steak onto my plate— covering it with brown mushroom gravy, along with mashed potatoes topped with melted butter, shredded cheese, and chopped green onions. He then adds some green beans— which I notice are flavored with pieces of bacon, and a few bread rolls on the side. I can feel my mouth water in anticipation of tasting it all.

"That's just to get you started. If you don't like something, it won't hurt my feelings if you decide not to eat it. As you can see, there's a lot more here, but it can't all fit on your plate at once. Please help yourself to as much as you want; that's what I made it for." He winks at me with an encouraging grin, "The more you eat, the more accomplished I'll feel."

He's right. There are a lot of scrumptious looking things on the table, and I feel like sampling them all. I don't even have to taste anything yet to know it'll all be delicious. He tells me to start eating as soon as I want to, and I waste no time in doing so. I was totally correct in assuming it'd be amazing. In fact, amazing would be a complete understatement.

"How in the world did you learn to cook so well?" I ask, thoroughly impressed. "This is just… _wow_. It's all so good, Peeta! I can't _believe_ you did all of this…."

He smiles humbly as he finishes filling his plate, and glances over at me with a casual shrug.

"Mom was never quite the cooking kind, and I've always liked to experiment in the kitchen."

I take a huge bite out of the mushroom gravy covered steak, and it's so good that I don't even feel slightly shy or self-conscious about it. He proceeds to light the candles in the center of the table, and I want to tell him it's unnecessary, but he seems to have gone to great lengths to create a certain atmosphere for our date. I watch in silent curiosity as he goes over to the wall and turns off the lights.

The only thing lighting the dining room are the candles on the table. I'm not sure how or even why, but the simple ambiance changes the mood of things entirely. It's all so much more... _intimate _now. My heart quickens and I take in a slow, deep breath to relax. We're _only_ eating dinner, after all, and I have no reason to feel overwhelmed by it….

But there's just something about seeing each other in the candlelight, surrounded by darkness, that makes me feel utterly exposed. I've always felt more comfortable and at ease in the dark, but I'm not used to being with someone else, besides Prim, when I'm in it.

I look over at him every so often during dinner and catch him studying me rather intently. The flickering shadow of the candlelight's flames dance across his face, in his eyes, on his lips, and I feel a different sort of fire burning inside of me. Once again, I find my thoughts going back to yesterday morning, and remembering the desire I felt as our lips and tongues met, how my body reacted to his simple touch, and how my breasts had ached with a need to be enveloped by his gentle hands. Just thinking about it causes my lower body to act weirdly again. I bring my legs tightly together, hoping the sudden gush of warmth and the slight throbbing sensation will go away soon. I'm just very thankful that Peeta can't see the redness of my cheeks. I feel embarrassed and silly for even having these thoughts and feelings, but I can't seem to stop them. I quickly avert my eyes back to my plate of food, and try not to look over at him again.

"So what was the deal with the cop yesterday?" he asks, breaking the silence all of a sudden. I quickly look up at him, feeling rather surprised he'd spring such a serious and unpleasant question on me during a moment like this. "I got the impression that he wasn't exactly an old family friend."

I bite my lip, shake my head, and look down at my plate. I seem to have lost my appetite, though.

"It's a really long story, Peeta,"I answer quietly and shrug my shoulders. "It's not a nice one, either. Let's not ruin a perfectly good evening, okay?" I glance over at him again and give a feeble attempt at a smile.

"We have plenty of time. It won't ruin anything," he replies tenderly. He looks serious and questioning, but also very sincere. My body is starting to tremble with anxiety. I'm aware that I'm going to have to explain this to him somehow, but I don't really know where to start. I also feel scared to even speak about it or get him involved. "Katniss… I'm _not_ going to judge you, and it's impossible for you to scare me off. You should know that by now. I just want— _nee_d— to know these things, no matter how bad they are, because I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Don't you think I should have _some_ clue of what's going on?"

"I guess." I aimlessly move some food around my plate with a fork. I sigh and continue in an unsure voice, "But… I don't know. I feel bad telling you. I don't want you to get mixed up in all of this, and I don't want you feeling sorry for me. I don't want you to date me out of pity."

"Are you serious? Dating you has _nothing_ to do with pity, and it never will," Peeta says incredulously. "I want to know so I can be there for you, and try to help in any way I can. Please tell me? I won't tell anyone else. I just want know why you were so scared and upset."

"You promise you won't tell?" I close my eyes and hold my breath.

What in the _world_ am I getting myself into?

"I promise."

I release the air from my lungs and, before I lose my courage, blurt, "The cop you saw… he's _not_ a good one. In fact, he's probably worse than most of the so-called criminals he arrests."

I slowly open my eyes to see his reaction. He doesn't appear too surprised, as I'm sure he already knew Coin wasn't exactly a stand-up guy, but he looks like he has a lot of questions that he wants to ask. "What do you mean? What has he done?"

I place the fork down with a sigh and sit all the way back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and avoiding Peeta's intent gaze. I know I shouldn't be telling him any of this, but I also can't seem to lie to him, either. Somehow I know that when Peeta says he'll be there for me—that he's not going to go anywhere and he'll help me—he means it. After the run-in with Coin, and his comments about visiting the bakery, Peeta _needs_ to know all of this anyway, for his own safety. I don't want to constantly worry that he'll say the wrong thing, not _knowing _it's the wrong thing, and put us all in danger. He also needs to know why I could never go to the police about Snow.

I nervously continue to explain, "My stepdad, Snow, was partly raised by him. I don't know all the details, but I _do_ know that Snow's real parents died when he was young and he was moved from foster home to foster home. Eventually, Coin adopted him when he was around fourteen years old, but I highly doubt that it was out of love or compassion."

"Why'd he adopt him, then? Do you know?"

"I was never really told why. Snow and I don't really have a lot of heart-to-hearts," I answer with a cynical laugh. "But I _do_ know they make drugs together and sell them, and have for years. I guess that's their idea of family bonding. Anyway, Snow knows the power he holds, and he takes full advantage of it. He knows too much, does too much, and Coin will get him out of anything."

"Are you serious?" Peeta asks indignantly, his eyebrows drawn together in disgust. I bite my lip and nod, not knowing what else to really say. "Do the other police officers know? You should turn him in, Katniss! End it all. The guy needs to be put behind bars… _both_ of them do!"

"They all know; they're _all_ corrupt. Coin basically runs this entire town on blackmail and bribes," I bitterly answer with a roll of my eyes. "If I ever told anyone, you can count on me suddenly disappearing, make no mistake about that. That's why you can never tell anyone what I'm telling you. I'm trusting you more than you realize with this," I pause and meaningfully raise my eyebrows at him.

Peeta nods in understanding and, without a word, stands up and moves a chair right next to mine. He sits back down and wraps his arms around me, bringing me into a comforting embrace. I rest my head on his shoulder and hug him back. His gentle sweetness and warmth instantly puts me at ease and makes me feel as if nothing can harm me as long as he keeps me close to him like this.

"You can trust me," he says near my ear.

"I know," I whisper back.

I close my eyes and melt into his embrace. If I had a choice, I'd spend the whole night just like this. I feel unbelievably safe and secure in his arms. It's a nice feeling, not one that I experience very often, and I don't want it to end.

"I promise I'm going to get you away from there, Katniss," he quietly reassures me as he rubs my back. "You, your sister, _and_ your mom."

He makes me feel hopeful with his empty words, but I also know that's _exactly_ what they are — _empty words_. I won't hold him to his meaningless promises. I know that he's simply trying to comfort me and I appreciate that, but I also know that there's little he can really do to change anything. After all, if there was a simple fix, I would have thought of it by now.

"Peeta, that's sweet, but you can't. I appreciate the thought, but there's really nothing you can do."

His hand steadies on my back and I feel him hesitate for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he asks in a nervous rush, "You can come live with me? When I turn eighteen in November…."

I lean back and look at him in surprise. I know his heart is in the right place, but now he's just throwing out silly suggestions. There's no way Mrs. Mellark would be okay with me, my sister, and _especially_ my mom, coming to live in their house. Peeta seems perfectly serious, though. Surely he must see the absurdity in his idea?

I shake my head and give a small, amused laugh, "Again, very sweet. But I _really_ don't think your mom would approve of—"

"I'm moving out on my birthday," he quickly starts to explain. Taking another deep breath, he continues a little excitedly, "My dad knows all about it— he's been helping, talking to the landlord of the place, getting everything set-up for an easy move. _A lot_ of things will be changing on that day."

"Like what?"

"When I turn eighteen, the bakery becomes mine. My dad's currently going through the process of getting ownership transferred to me on the very day of my birthday. It sounds easy enough, but it's actually pretty complicated and expensive—"

"That's wonderful, Peeta!" I hug him enthusiastically and kiss his cheek; I'm a little embarrassed for doing it, but I just feel so happy for him that I have to express it _somehow_. He looks at me with a surprised smile, and gives me a quick peck on the lips. My thoughts suddenly go to Mr. Mellark and what he'll do when this happens; I know the bakery is his livelihood, after all. "What about your dad, though? Is he retiring or something?"

"No," Peeta answers as he absentmindedly runs his hands down the length of my hair. "Things will still be ran as they normally would, at least until I'm done with school; I'll take over then. The main reason he's doing this now is so that when he divorces my mom, she can't take the bakery. He doesn't care if she takes the house or the car, or anything else; but when I turn eighteen, she can't take his children or the bakery anymore. He's also transferring a huge chunk of money into my account so she can't take that, either. It's been a long time coming, Katniss."

"Wait. Your dad's divorcing your mom?" I ask in wide eyed disbelief. Peeta smiles and slowly nods. He looks so genuinely relieved and happy by this; I can't help it—I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly again. His hands rest on the sides of my waist without hesitation, and I feel his lips gently touch my neck. Trying to ignore the quickening of my heartbeat, I continue, "That's awesome! I'm so happy for you guys."

"I'm happy, too. Very nervous about how it's going to go down, though. Hard telling how she'll react to it all. It won't be very pretty, I know that much," he mumbles into my neck. As it always does, the vibration of his voice being so close to my skin causes me to involuntarily shiver. He notices this and gives a small laugh, but doesn't mention it. He pulls back to look at me, raising his eyebrows in question, "But anyway… will you?"

I narrow my eyes in confusion, my hands still clasped together at his nape, "Will I what?"

Peeta sends me a small half smile and answers timidly, "Come live with me?"

He bites his bottom lip and looks at me expectantly for an answer. I don't know what to say, though. What _can_ I say? I really didn't expect such an offer. There's so much that can go wrong with it, and I really don't think he understands just how much danger it'd put all of us in.

I avoid his eyes and his question, replying in a joking manner, "It's a bit soon to be thinking about things like that, isn't it?"

He shakes his head, not looking deterred in the slightest. If anything, he appears more emboldened in his plan.

"Not really. I mean, it'll be almost two months from now. Even if you decide you don't want to date me by then, I'd rather you still live with me—your sister and Mom, too—instead of where you are now, getting hurt and fearing for your life." I shrug and remain silent, purposefully casting my eyes to the side to avoid his gaze. He brings a hand gently to my chin to direct my face towards him. I reluctantly meet his eyes; they seem so kind and reassuring—and intense in the candlelight— that I find myself unable to look away from them again. Even if I didn't believe the words that came from his mouth, I can't help but trust the sincerity and promise in his eyes. He finishes jokingly with, "Please don't say that I'm a worse alternative than your asshole stepdad?"

"Of course not," I answer with a nervous laugh. My mind is racing and my heart is pounding. Peeta is causing me to daydream about the possibility of escape, of the idea of a happily ever after, and it feels euphoric. However, another part of me can't help but be a realist and think it's all too good to be true; it _won't _work. _Something_ will stop it, and I'll wind up worse than I was before, or dead. It _can't_ be that simple. Nothing ever is. "I just don't know. It's a big change, and a lot to think about. Snow's not a forgiving man, and he'll think of a way to make me pay for leaving. Like getting us charged for kidnapping or something—"

Peeta tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and continues to run his fingers soothingly through my hair. I watch as his eyes drink in every detail of my face. It makes me feel self-conscious, but with the admiring way he's looking at me, I know he's not thinking bad things at all. But it does make me wonder exactly _what_ his thoughts are.

"If your mom is with you, he can't get anyone for kidnapping, right? And when you turn eighteen, maybe you can try to gain custody of Prim. I'd help you the whole way, with anything and everything," he reassures, his fingertips tickling my cheekbone like butterfly wings, "I know it's a lot to consider, and I don't expect you to give an immediate answer. You have all the way until November, so just think it over?" He leans his forehead onto mine and sends me a very serious and heartfelt look with his eyes. I instantly avert my gaze downward, focusing on the movement of his mouth as he continues in a near whisper. "I'll take care of you, Katniss, in _every_ way. You won't want or need for anything; I promise you that. I'd never let anyone hurt you again."

I feel overwhelmed. I don't know what to think or feel. I want to tell him yes, but I'm scared to. I don't want to make the wrong choice. I don't know what to say.

"I'll… I'll have to think about it, okay?"

"That's all I ask." He kisses my forehead and smiles sweetly at me.

"Thank you," I reply quietly, my mind going in a million different directions.

"Enough with all this serious talk. Let's enjoy the rest of our date, shall we?" Peeta suddenly changes the subject, his voice full of jubilation. He grins as he asks, "Ready to go watch a movie?"

His eyes twinkle knowingly, and I instantly wonder what he knows that I don't.

"Sure…" I answer with uncertainty. "What are we watching?"

Whatever it is, I'm sure I haven't seen it anyway. The last time I saw a movie, besides the occasional one here and there at school, was when I was eleven.

"It's a surprise!" he tells me with a wink.

* * *

He silently leads me downstairs to the basement… only it doesn't look like a typical one. It's not musty or covered in concrete and spiders like I would have imagined. Instead, it's much like a regular room in any other part of the house. There's paneling on the walls, a drop ceiling above my head, and carpet on the floors.

Peeta might be _treated_ shabby by his mom and brothers, but he definitely doesn't _live _shabby at all. I'm a little intimidated. I know his family is far from poor, but seeing just how well off they really are—and how much he has—I know he could never truly understand where I'm coming from or how I live. He might _think_ he does, or even be sympathetic of it, but he'll never have a clue.

My eyes dart around the room, noticing all sorts of things—a painting easel, dressers, a big flat-screen TV on the wall, beautifully realistic paintings hanging here and there, a bookshelf covered from top to bottom, a desk… and also a queen-sized bed.

My eyes go wide with realization and my mouth goes dry.

We're going to be watching a movie in Peeta's room, in the dark, and I'm assuming—since the TV faces directly towards it—on his _bed._

And we're _completely _alone together.

My mind once again goes back to yesterday morning and how I couldn't think of anything other than how good he was making me feel, how amazing it was, how I wanted him to be closer, and how I needed more. I think of his delicious scent, how every inch of my body ached to be touched, and how his slow, passionate kisses matched mine perfectly.

I didn't want it to stop.

I find myself wondering how far things would have carried on had Prim not interrupted us when she did, or if we had been alone like we are now. Would I have stopped? Would _he_ have? Would we have been ready for more? Does _anyone_ ever even _know_ when they're ready?

I gulp rather loudly and my face is turning bright red. I suddenly feel very, _very_ awkward. Sure, I've been in Gale's room and in his bed more times than I can count, but that was _completely_ different than this. Gale is like a big brother, a best friend… _not_ a boyfriend. I've never had romantic feelings for _him_; I've never passionately kissed himor had certain embarrassing bodily reactions to his touch or his mere presence. With Peeta, however, it's the exact opposite.

This intrigues me and also scares the hell out of me.

I don't know what to think or what to say.

"So this is where I spend most of my time when I'm not at the bakery or school," Peeta casually explains, evidently not realizing how suggestive it is to bring a girl to his bedroom for a date. He kisses me on the cheek and smiles in a very innocent way that makes me feel ashamed of myself for thinking he might have a less than gentlemanly ulterior motive.

"It's…" My voice cracks from sheer nervousness; I clear my throat and carry on, trying to keep my tone steady, "It's… nice."

"Thanks," he says cheerfully. I don't move a muscle as he grabs a remote and turns the TV on. He then turns off the lights, letting the blue light from the TV flood the room. Suddenly, the butterflies in my stomach develop claws.

He sits down on the bed, against the headboard, and gestures for me to join him. I remain firmly planted where I stand and silently and emphatically shake my head.

He appears to be confused for a moment, but then a mischievous, knowing grin comes to his face.

"Katniss," he starts, and I can hear the laughter bubbling behind his voice, "If you don't come sit by me, we can't have sex."

"What…?" My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open in shock as his words sink in. "_Peeta!"_

He starts to laugh rather heartily at my surprise, and I can tell he was only joking. But _still_.

"Oh my g_od_. Relax!" he replies, looking extremely amused. "I _promise_ I won't jump your bones or anything, okay? I'll try to restrain myself and be a good boy. Unless you'd rather me _not_—"

"Shut up and stop mocking me," I mumble and cross my arms, feeling agitated and mortified at his light-hearted teasing. "You're not being funny, you know."

He snorts and grins a little wider, "You're being silly. Just get over here and watch the movie?"

I roll my eyes and nervously make my way over to the bed. I sit down next to him, keeping my arms crossed. He brings an arm around my shoulder and lightly nudges my side. I look over at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes; he bites his lip to keep from laughing and shakes his head, "I wish I knew what was going on in your head right now. I never imagined you had such a dirty mind."

"I _don't_!" I heatedly retort and look away from him. He laughs again, but I am not seeing the humor. "Shut up, Peeta! You're the one talking about_… things_. And you should _know_ it's inappropriate to spend a date in your _bed_."

"It's _only_ a bed," he answers, then leans down next to my ear, "_Not_ an automatic sex cushion. We can sit on the floor if that makes you feel more comfortable?"

I shake my head, but remain silent. I feel so overwhelmed and nervous I can barely breathe, let alone talk. He kisses my cheek and gives my shoulders a squeeze.

"I'm sorry if you feel weird being in my bed, okay?" He tells me in a suddenly sincere and timid voice. "I never actually thought about how you might take it. It's just… we don't have a DVD player in the living room, my TV is better, and I never really spend time in there anyway. And I'm only joking with you, Katniss. I'm not expecting anything more out of you, so please don't think I have bad intentions—"

"I don't," I quickly reply.

"You obviously _did_—"

"Can we just watch the movie now?" I cut him off, trying to change this awkward and embarrassing topic of discussion into something more appropriate. "_Please_?"

"Yes. That sounds like a _great_ idea," he answers with a smile. He kisses my temple and presses play on the remote.

As soon as the sepia picture comes into view and the music starts, I know _exactly_ which movie it is.

"This…"I start in breathless surprise. "This _isn't_…?"

"It _is_." He nods and looks rather pleased with himself.

I feel overwhelmingly nostalgic and amazed that Peeta would even pick this one out of all he could have chosen….

It's my all-time favorite movie.

* * *

**Note: **A great big thank you to Chelzie for being a wonderful beta! Thanks for reading. :)


	22. The First Date (Part 2)

_Big thanks to Chelzie for beta-reading this chapter, and to Mejhiren/Porchwood for always listening to my incessant rambling about plot ideas. ;) You two ladies are lovely and wonderful._

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

**The First Date (Part Two)**

_**I was so undeserving. And yet, you were so relentless. I pushed—you pulled. I wept—you embraced. I bled—you repaired. I faltered—you shushed. I stopped—you smiled. I was a disaster – the worst of its kind. And yet, you still had the audacity to let me know that I was beautiful.**_

_**-Unknown**_

It's _The Wizard of Oz_.

Memories from my childhood come flooding back in an instant; ones I've spent years purposefully trying to repress. I haven't watched this film since before my father was killed in the mines, and the shock of seeing it again so suddenly and unexpectedly brings tears to my eyes. Not _sad_ tears, exactly, but tears from remembering happier times—times when I was innocent and carefree; times when I _knew_ I was loved.

Times when life was _completely_ different, and so was I.

I glance at Peeta in surprise and confusion. How in the world did he know this was my favorite movie, or that it'd mean so much for me to see it again? Even _Prim_ doesn't know. In fact, she's never even seen it, so _she_ certainly couldn't have told him.

"I haven't watched this since I was a kid," I tell him breathlessly, searching his face for an answer or a clue. "It… it used to be my favorite."

Technically, it still _is_.

"I know," he replies with a wink.

I shake my head slightly, still not understanding at all. I really haven't even _thought _of the movie in years, so why would he? Why, with so many other newer movies to choose from, would he pick this one in particular?

"How, though? I'm pretty sure that I never told you, and I know for a fact that Prim hasn't."

He appears both shy and pleased by my reaction. A small, boyish smile comes to his lips as he delicately runs his hand down the length of my arm and back up again.

"I guessed. I mean, it wasn't all too hard to figure out. Besides the play in third grade, you dressed as Dorothy for Halloween three years in a row when we were in elementary school." He chuckles softly at this, and I can't help the grin that takes over my face. It was so long ago, I'm bewildered and touched that he even noticed, let alone remembered after all this time.

He's right, though. I _did_ dress as Dorothy in kindergarten, first, and second grade for Halloween, and I also had the lead part as Dorothy in a third grade play. I find it sort of astounding that he'd preserved something so simple and minute in his mind about me; something that even_ I_ had basically forgotten about myself until this very moment. He had no reason at all to remember these tiny details about me, so why _did_ he? Why _would _he?

I try to keep my focus on the movie, but it's nearly impossible. I have so many questions, and yet I have no idea what to say or where to start.

"I can't believe you remember," I say after a moment, my voice quiet and awed.

"I _also_ remember that you used to wear your hair in two braids almost every day because you said you wanted to look like her." He leans over and places a lingering kiss on my flushed cheek; I can feel the curve of his smile as he does so. When he moves away, my skin tingles where his warm lips had touched it. "And, if you remember, I told you in third grade, during rehearsal, that you were much prettier. I wasn't lying, either."

"I don't remember you telling me that. That's really sweet, though. I'm sure I thought it was very nice at the time."

I wish I _could _remember, but my life is divided into two separate parts – _before_ Snow and _after _Snow. I try my best not to think of the times before... I make a point of it, to forget everything. It hurts too much to remember the old me and my old life. I know I can never go back to it. I can _never _be that happy ever again, so it's not worth dwelling on.

Sometimes the good memories can hurt more than the worst beating.

"I doubt you would. A lot of boys liked you back then. I was just one among the _crowd_, vying for your attention," he states factually, nudging my side. I can see him grinning at me from the corner of my eye.

"Whatever, Peeta. That's _not_ true," I answer with a disbelieving snort.

"It _is_ true! I had a lot of competition! Why do you think I never said anything?" Peeta insists.

Despite my denial of his words, I can't help the deep blush or the heartwarming feeling that comes over me at his adoration. Perhaps a part of me_ is_ a bit happy that someone still remembers the confident and carefree little girl that I used to be and wishes to remind me of her, too.

When I was younger, I had no problem making friends; in fact, I was somewhat of a social butterfly. I didn't have anything holding me back—I didn't have anything to hide. When my father died, I stopped smiling and talking; people started avoiding me because they didn't know what to do or say. Then Mom married Snow and I started coming to school dirty and in old clothes, and the friends I thought were true turned on me and started talking about me behind my back—and eventually started teasing me to my face. I still had a few good friends, but I started not trusting them, either. I couldn't trust anyone at that point. I was going through hell at home, and I was defensive, moody, and quiet. My personality completely changed. Eventually I pushed everyone away, and they were more than happy to keep their distance, though some of them took the avoidance personally. It's been that way ever since.

As for Peeta's comment about a lot of boys liking me when I was younger, I was never aware of that, and I'm almost positive that he's just saying it to make me feel better about myself.

"Anyway, it's actually because of this movie that I first noticed you."

I turn my attention from the TV to him. "How's that?"

As much as I love the film and want to watch it again after so long, I find that I am even more interested and curious about Peeta's wonderful reminiscing of our childhood. After all, it's not something I normally get to discuss with _anyone_, let alone someone who cares to remember particular details. And besides, who else would I talk to? Gale and I didn't become friends until after our fathers died, and that was when I was forced to grow up and my personality started to change in every way. He _also_ thought I was simply an annoying child before then, so he's not exactly one I can have heart-to-hearts with about this sort of thing.

"In kindergarten, Miss Trinket—you remember our eccentric old elementary music teacher?" he asks with a nostalgic, far off smile, and even in the dimly lit room, I can see his eyes twinkle animatedly. I nod slowly, recollecting Miss Trinket's burgundy hair and brightly colored clothes, and wait with bated breath for him to continue. "Well, she asked if anyone knew the words to '_Over the Rainbow,'_ and your hand went straight up in the air. I'd never heard the song before or even watched the movie, but when you started singing… time stood _still_, Katniss. Everything stopped around me. All I could see, hear, or think of was you; the girl with the dark braids and the red dress, who sung the pretty song that gave me hope. I noticed you all the time after that."

I vaguely recall this moment—singing in front of the class during the first week of kindergarten. Miss Trinket asked if anyone knew the words to the song, and it was my absolute favorite. I was quick to volunteer, especially since I'd always sung it with my dad and knew it by heart. It was one of the main ones we'd sing together on our nature walks, and we watched the movie almost every weekend. He knew I loved it, and he always set aside time to watch it with me no matter what. Even though he'd seen it probably a hundred times and his job in the mines was rough, and the weekend was the only free time he had—he always seemed so happy and eager to sit me on his lap or beside him and cheerfully sing along to every song with me.

As all of these memories slowly come back to me, they are both hazy and vivid— like an intense and impactful dream that I can't fully recollect. I want to remember, but I also want to keep everything forgotten. It's a bittersweet inner conflict which leaves a strange, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel a tickle in my chest and a lump in my throat, but I won't cry. I refuse to. I'm _over_ my father's death; it was _years_ ago and I can't bring him back, so it's pointless to cry about it.

"Oh, I'm sure you noticed _other_ girls, too," I counter modestly, attempting to change the subject and forget about the connection between the movie and my father. This night is about _us, _after all—me and Peeta. And he's been so sweet and thoughtful that I don't want him to think that his choosing of this movie was a bad idea. I don't want to make him feel remorseful by crying or telling him the movie reminds me of beautiful things I'd rather forget.

Before he can reply, I glance away from his face and down at his hand. It lies a few inches from my own, and I find myself really wanting to reach out and hold on to it. My mind and heart race in competition, and I feel my body start to tremble with nerves at the boldness of my thoughts. All I have to do is move my arm over a couple of inches and place my palm onto his… so why can't I? I'm being ridiculous. It's not like Peeta would laugh or make fun of me for it; in fact, I know he'd probably like it. I bite my lip, mentally daring myself to make the first move for a change.

Finally, I just hold my breath and do it – I swiftly take hold of his hand and entwine our fingers before he has a chance to pull them away. Peeta responds by tenderly caressing his thumb over the top of my hand and giving it a slight squeeze. He then brings it up to his lips, planting a small kiss on my wrist, as if to ease the uncertainty of my thoughts.

"I did," Peeta agrees. "But not the same way I noticed you. They couldn't compare… I couldn't get the girl with the beautiful voice out of my head." He kisses the top of my hand, and then my forehead. "And I still _can't, _almost twelve years later." He leans his head gently onto the side of mine. "I guess I'm a little smitten."

I shake my head at his blatant flirting and turn to him with a smile, "Why are you so sweet all the time?"

"I work with a lot of sugar," he beams, shrugging.

We relax into each other and turn back to the movie again. After a moment, he retrieves a throw blanket from the end of his bed and envelops us within it, explaining that it's "just to make things more cozy." I nod without a word, feeling more comfortable beneath it, and lean my head into the crook of his shoulder. Our hands are still twined together, and his other one lazily combs through my hair. I'm so tranquil and content that I could simply close my eyes and fall asleep. In his arms, in this moment, I feel like I could easily forget about everyone and everything that worries me.

And then I hear it.

I thought I could handle the song, thought I was strong enough that it wouldn't affect me. I was completely wrong. As soon as I hear Judy Garland open with the first chorus of '_Over The Rainbow,' _my breath catches in my chest, my face turns beet red from trying to keep the tears at bay, and then the pressure of holding back builds up… and I lose it.

An embarrassing and involuntary sob escapes me. I clear my throat to cover it up, but it does no good—I already have tears coming down my cheeks. I'm such an idiot! I _shouldn't_ be crying. Dad is _dead_ and so is the past, and crying over it is just plain silly and pointless.

I grudgingly wipe at my face with my free hand, attempting to hide the fact from Peeta. I feel ridiculous enough without having to explain why I'm crying at a children's movie.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks with concern. I lean forward from his embrace, unclasping my hand from his and bringing both of mine up to my face to hide behind them. I don't want him to see me like this. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart and get back to normal. Peeta places his hands over mine and gently moves them away from my face. Then, with his fingers beneath my chin, he turns me towards him. I glance up at him through tear drenched lashes with an ashamed, sorrowful frown. He looks worried and confused. "Did I do something wrong, Katniss?"

"No! Not at all," I quickly answer, shaking my head vigorously. I bite my lip and look away again, feeling a fresh bout of tears start to cloud my eyes and threaten to fall. "I'm just being silly. Oh gosh, I'm sorry for crying! I told myself I wouldn't—"I hastily swipe at my eyes with the backs of my hands, resenting my complete lack of composure. Peeta probably thinks I'm an unstable idiot now. _Great._

I feel both of his warm, strong arms wrap around me, bringing me to him. The song is over and I feel relieved, but I also feel comforted by his embrace. I bring my own arms around his waist and back, clasping them at his side, and bury my face into his chest. One of his hands soothingly rubs my back and the other gently and slowly combs though my hair.

"It's fine, you can cry. It's _not _silly at all," he quietly says. He kisses the top of my head, keeping his lips there, and asks, "But what's the matter?"

I hiccup back another sob, and take a deep, shaky breath. I shrug, knowing I can't exactly lie to him. He's already seen me cry, I might as well tell him why. "My dad," I answer, my voice hoarse and uneven. I keep my cheek against his chest and continue, "We used to watch this movie together all the time. We'd go hiking in the woods… and we'd always sing songs from it, since he knew I loved it. Especially that song. I guess it just sort of… got to me for a moment. I'm okay now, though."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Katniss!" Peeta apologizes in an instant, sounding remorseful. "I didn't mean to bring up any sad memories. I had no idea about your dad. I'll turn the movie off—"I feel his hand leave my hair and reach for the remote. I place my hand over his and stop him.

"No, no. Please don't. You didn't." Our fingers lock together as if by instinct, and I bring his hand closer to me. "They're very _good _memories. It's just overwhelming to hear that particular song again after so long. That's all."

"You're _sure _you want to keep watching?"

I nod, but I feel so content where I am that I can't really bring myself to turn my head and look at the TV.

"Yes," I answer anyway. "I'm very sure."

He leans back onto the headboard, bringing me with him, and lifts the cover up to our shoulders. I close my eyes and just take in the feeling of complete peace that comes over me with him. I take notice of the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and the rapid beating of his heart against my ear. And once again, I feel solace in knowing I'm not the only one new to all of this.

"Your dad seemed like he was a really great man, at least from what I've heard from my own dad, and from what I saw as a kid." I open my eyes and listen to his voice vibrate from deep inside his chest. It leaves a ticklish feeling against my ear that travels all the way down to the pit of my stomach, where it seems to wake a million little butterflies at once. "I remember him being so proud and putting you on his shoulders after that play in third grade. You _have_ to remember that?"

"Of course I remember _that_!" I lean back from his chest and look up at him with a nostalgic wide-eyed grin. "Oh man… that seems like a _dream_, it was so long ago!"

"I still think Miss Trinket set the play up just because she remembered you singing that song in kindergarten. I think you were picked to be the lead before anyone even auditioned," he chuckles.

"I don't know about _that_," I answer bashfully, leaning my head casually onto his shoulder. I glance down, watching blissfully as he takes his fingers from between mine, and places both of our palms and fingers flat against each other as if to compare the differences. He then brings his fingers sensually down to my palm, tracing circles in the middle. I release a silent, content sigh and continue, "I was so excited when I was picked for the lead. I don't think I've felt that happy in years. Dad was so happy and helped me rehearse every night when he got home. Looking back, I was probably pretty annoying… but he never let on that I bothered him. It really feels like a lifetime ago, like it wasn't even me…."

"It was you, all right. You were amazing. Everyone else thought so, too. You got a standing ovation, remember? You had everyone surprised. They didn't expect so much talent out of such a little girl."

It's strange to even think about—I don't even sing anymore. I haven't in years. Without my father around, there's no point. Besides, Snow hates it when I do, so I just… _don't._

"I remember, but it just doesn't seem real anymore." I gently close my hand over his fingers and flip his palm over, mimicking the movements on him that he had just done to me. I want to make him feel as good as he makes me feel. His hand trembles nervously as I touch him, in the same exact way mine had; I smile, but I don't say anything about it. "I'm not the same person as I was back then. And it wasn't just me who got the standing ovation, it was the whole cast—"

"No, it was definitely _you_ they were applauding for. You were the star, everyone else was just kind of… _there_," he laughs, and his tone becomes more meaningful, "And you're _still_ the same person, Katniss. You _can_ be happy like that again."

"I wish," I whisper. He kisses the top of my head and folds our fingers together again.

"You _will_ be," he assures. "Anyway, do you remember me being the Cowardly Lion?" He snorts as if the thought both amuses and embarrasses him.

"That's right! I totally forgot that was _you_!" I look up at him again, grinning at the memory. I suddenly recall the scrawny, smiley little boy who played the lion – all blond curls and red cheeks, shy and timid, who never really said anything to anyone. Peeta and I rarely talked to each other, never had a reason to, and it was so long ago, I had completely forgotten that the bashful blond boy was him. "You were an adorable little lion."

His cheeks are as red now as they were then; he kisses me quickly on the lips, then shrugs and looks away, shaking his head as if remembering something funny.

"Well, if you remember, I was _really_ living up to my role. I had horrible stage fright, and you kept trying to encourage me— telling me that I was being _exactly_ like the Cowardly Lion and just needed to find my courage. And Miss Trinket tried to encourage me, too, and at one point she said I'd be a dandy lion. I heard her wrong and thought she said she was going to make me play the part of a dandelion instead. I got pretty insulted and embarrassed by it and told her very passionately that I did _not _want to be a flower, and you laughed so hard. You thought it was the funniest thing, and called me dandelion for a while after that."

"I _do_ remember that, now that you mention it," I answer, both of us laughing at the memory. It's strange how much things have changed since then—with him being more courageous and me being the cowardly one. But the story warms my heart; it amazes me that I'd nearly forgotten all these little instances I had shared with him as a child. I guess I just didn't have a reason to remember any of them until now. I just needed to be reminded. "I'm sorry if I made you feel bad by calling you a dandelion—"

"Oh no, you didn't say it in a mean way at all. You were always really nice, always going out of your way to talk to me, even though I was always too shy to say anything back. Anyway, you'd say it with a smile and I knew you were only joking with me. And I didn't care at all that you were calling me a flower, I was beyond thrilled that you even noticed me."

"I noticed you—"I start to object.

"Not like I've noticed you, Katniss," he cuts me off, sounding slightly anxious. He exhales deeply, giving my shoulders a quick squeeze—almost as if to reassure himself of what he's about to say, rather than anything else. I glance up at him curiously. He avoids my eyes, a small, timid smile curving his lips, "I know it might sound weird, but… I remember _every_ single moment I've _ever_ been around you since kindergarten. Ever since the day I heard you sing."

"That's not weird… that's incredibly sweet. I really had no idea; I can't believe you never said anything to me," I reply, unsure of what to think or what to feel, but knowing that I'm definitely moved. "You have such a remarkable memory… I... I think you remember more about me than I do. I'm _really_ sorry I can't remember everything—"

"Don't be sorry. You really had no reason to remember or pay attention; they were just every day moments for you. I was just a kid with a huge crush on a pretty girl, and I wanted to remember everything about you, and every moment we shared — even the small ones, because they meant a lot to me."

"I hope you know I'll be calling you dandelion from now on. It's really your own fault for reminding me," I tease with a smirk, poking his side to alleviate the thick tension I feel between us. I'm honestly overwhelmed at his admission. I knew he had a crush on me, he told me that much before. I just never knew it was so… _intense_ for him, or quite so serious. Or that he'd remembered _everything_ about me. How could I have known? He never said anything to me. It's still quite a bit for my mind to even process—I never thought anyone could like me, especially not like _this_. And I most definitely wouldn't have expected it from someone as sweet, handsome, and easily likeable as Peeta.

He laughs and pokes me back. I playfully swat his hand away, giggling, and close my eyes as he captures my lips with his in a tender, slow kiss. My heartbeat speeds up in delight and my body melts against his. He pulls away after a moment, resting his forehead onto mine as I bite my lip, feeling a little dazed.

"I'll always be your dandelion, if you'll always be my cupcake queen."

Instantly, I think of what my mom had said last night, about Peeta and me as children. It was a shock to hear, but I have no way of knowing if it actually happened. If it did, I don't remember it at all. But I'd like to. I find myself wondering if Peeta remembers anything about it.

"Speaking of cupcakes—"

"Do you want me to make you some? Because it won't take long—" he offers quickly before I can finish, and he has such an adorably earnest expression on his face when he says it that it makes my heart skip a beat.

"No, Peeta, but thank you." I shake my head, amused at his eagerness to please me. I'm unsure of how to continue, but since he seems to remember so much, I'm curious if what my mom said was an actual memory or one that she had imagined. I ask in the best way I can, "I was just wondering… if you remember something about us being seven and you giving me a butterfly cupcake? I don't remember, but my mom said something about it. Just wondering if you'd have any idea?"

"Of course I do."

"You _do_?" I look up at him with surprised, unbelieving eyes.

"Well, it _was_ my first kiss from a girl, _and_ my first proposal," Peeta chuckles and shrugs. "And it was by a girl I adored, so yes. I _definitely_ remember."

"Did I really kiss you?" I ask in shock, wondering how in the world I could forget something like that, or how I could _ever _be so bold with a boy—even if I _was _only seven at the time.

"Yep," he nods, looking rather pleased with himself. "You _really_ liked that butterfly cupcake. Even agreed to marry me if I made you one every day."

"So that was your _first_ proposal, huh? Were you in the habit of giving the girls sweets as a kid and asking them to marry you in trade?"

He shakes his head and kisses my cheek, "You were the only one. The offer still stands, you know."

"What offer?"

"I'll still make you a butterfly cupcake every day if you'll marry me," he winks.

I roll my eyes and snort, knowing he's only joking, "Gee. That's _really _tempting, Peeta. I'll definitely have to consider that. Who can resist your cupcakes?"

"You know," he adds suggestively, "my buns aren't bad, either."

I'm about to agree, but then I realize the double entendre and my mouth drops open, "That's… _horrible_, Peeta."

"What?" he asks in a would-be-innocent tone, smirking. "I'm talking about my cheese buns. I've heard they're irresistible. You seemed pretty fond of them—"

"Sure you were." I shake my head in amusement. "And yes, I love your _cheese_ buns. They're very _cheesy_. Just like you and your not so subtle bun insinuation."

At my accusation, he opens his mouth in pretend shock and places a hand over his heart in an overly dramatic display of indignation. "I have no idea what you are talking about. I was insinuating nothing. Geez, Katniss. Where's your dirty mind this time?" I arch an eyebrow at him in warning and purse my lips, but I can't help smiling. He smirks at me and continues to tease, "Anyway, I think that's what I'll teach you on Monday—how to make buns. All kinds; cheese, cinnamon, sugar… I'd _really_ like to see how you handle your honey buns. And if you can't handle them all by yourself, as always, I'll be happy to take over and help—"

My eyes go wide, and I make a face at his implication, playfully swatting him on the shoulder, "I can't _believe_ you just said that, Peeta…"

I laugh despite my reprimanding words. It actually feels really good knowing that we can be like this with each other —at ease and comfortable. Intimate, even. I've never been this way with anyone. Well, besides Prim, but that's different. And Gale has always been a wonderful and caring friend, but he's more of the serious type, and we've never really teased each other. Well, not like _this _anyway; in fact, it'd just be really weird if we did. I wouldn't know how to react to it. With Peeta, though, it seems so natural and easy—uncomplicated.

"You know I'm just playing," Peeta squeezes my shoulders, giving me a half hug and quickly kisses my temple. "Anyway, as for the cupcake deal, screw just _one_. I'd make you a dozen every day; one hundred if you wanted."

"You're still on about that?" I roll my eyes. There's a weird fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach when he talks to me like this. I know on the surface of things he's merely joking, but there's a certain underlying tone to his words and his body language that makes it seem like he's also partly serious. I don't know what to think of it. It's way too soon to be thinking of serious things of that sort anyway. I continue to joke, though, telling him, "I think if I married you, I'd get _really _fat, _very_ quickly."

"And I'd cherish _every_ pound."

Again, he seems to be kidding, but is somewhat serious, too. I sigh and avert my eyes as my face and neck start to heat up. I feel weird talking or even thinking about things like this. It's strange enough realizing that I have a boyfriend now, and that this is my first date. Anything more than that—like the implication of future things such as marriage and sex—isn't something I can even entertain or process at the moment. They aren't exactly things I ever really thought of prior to meeting Peeta; I knew none of it was ever an option and that I'd probably never have an opportunity for any of it. Not with my life and the way I have to live. I was content—no, I was _accepting_—of spending my life alone. Prim was my only reason for living, and my only source of happiness. I don't know what to think of anything at all now. I still don't think a happily ever after will be possible for me, but… it gives me hope that, as long as Peeta is around to make me feel good, I'll have a happy present.

"We just started officially dating yesterday," I shyly tell him, suddenly feeling self-conscious and awkward. "I think it's a little too early to start talking about things like that."

"Ah, yes, we _technically_ only started dating _yesterday_, but I proposed to you over a decade ago and you _did_ say yes. A deal's a deal, you know. I promise I'll keep the cupcakes coming, if you keep the kisses coming—" he answers jokingly. Still, there's that hint of promise in his tone.

Before I can reply, he gently places his hands on both sides of my face and leans in to kiss me. I waste no time moving my lips gracefully and sensually with his. After a moment, his hands go to the small of my back, bringing me closer to him, and his mouth leaves mine as he starts to plant kisses over my cheek, jaw, and down my neck. It all feels so lovely, even_ if_ a bit ticklish, that all I can do is lean my head back to give him more access. As much as his sudden acts of intimacy surprise me, my instinctual reactions to them surprise me a whole lot more.

"You… you _really_ do like me," I whisper, not really as a question but more as a realization. After all he's done lately—the dinner, the movie, the cell-phone, wanting to help me, sitting by me in class, bringing me lunch, standing up for me, tending to the cut on my neck, the job and the rides home, reviving these memories, being kind to Prim… and even with all that, there's so _much_ more. There's no way all that can be fake. Peeta _really _cares for me.

It's not a question. It's a fact. I still don't understand why, though.

"Whatever gave you _that_ impression?" Peeta sarcastically teases. I roll my eyes and look away, feeling silly for voicing my thoughts out loud. "Yes, Katniss, I really_, really_ like you. If that's not _completely _obvious by now, it should be."

"Well," I let out a nervous breath, my cheeks burning. I work up my courage and admit in a rush, "I really, really like you, too."

Peeta kisses the tip of my nose, seeming a bit bewildered by my words. He then arches an eyebrow and playfully asks, "So you're _not_ just after my awesome butterfly cupcakes, then?"

I don't know what to say, so I just awkwardly shrug and smile. Without a word of explanation, he unwraps his arms from around me and reaches into a drawer on his side-table. I watch curiously as he retrieves a binder and glances over at me with a sigh, as if to second-guess showing me what's inside of it.

"What's that?"

He looks at me anxiously, chewing on his bottom lip, and then down at the binder again. "I was debating whether to show you this or not. I don't want you to think I'm weird—" he starts timidly.

"I'd _never_ think that," I quickly cut him off, meaningfully raising my eyebrows. He nods and releases a long breath before finally opening the binder. He flips through some pages, but I can't see what they are as he has it secretively pointed away from me.

Peeta eventually finds what he's looking for and takes the page out slowly and gently. He hands the paper face down to me, "I… painted this when I was in kindergarten… after seeing you that day."

I narrow my eyes curiously and turn the manila colored page over. My mouth drops open and I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's a water-color painting that was done by a child. A very _artistically_ talented child, but still obviously created by an innocent and yet unskilled hand.

And it's… _me._

More specifically, it's me in kindergarten. He painted my red plaid dress and long dark braids in detail, and at the bottom of the page in a child's scrawl, it reads: '_girl in red dress.' _Then below that, looking as if it was added later, '_Catnis_ _Evirdene_,' which was at some point scratched out to correct my name, the handwriting much neater, '_Katniss Everdeen.' _It's so adorable and touching, I'm nearly speechless. I smile to myself, imagining an enamored young Peeta excitedly rushing home to paint this… to paint _me_.

"Oh my… _Peeta_…" I finally manage to say, my voice light and airy. "I can't believe you did this… or that you kept it for so long."

"Your song gave me hope and I wanted to preserve the memory."

"I never knew you were an artist." I can't seem to look away from the picture, and I find myself curious. If he was this wonderful as a six-year-old, what is he capable of now? I glance up at him, "Do you have anything… recent?"

"What's in there," he points to the binder he's placed on the bed. He gestures around the room with his arms, and states casually, "And all the paintings on the walls are mine, too—"

My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open in shock. I thought they were prints or duplicates of famous paintings I wasn't aware of or something—they're _that _good. I would have never thought—never _dreamed_—that Peeta had been the one to create them. They are all so vivid and realistic, pictures of nature—sunsets, mountains, oceans, and fields, of random people—beautiful in the flaws that he made sure to keep, and of animals—foxes, lions, polar bears, and deer, in their natural habitat, serene and unassuming as they care for their young or hunt their prey. There are many other paintings too—cities and automobiles, and even a few abstracts, all lovely and perfect and magnificent. I'm in awe. I'm amazed. I don't even feel worthy of sitting next to him, he's so talented and wonderful. And yet, he's so humble… so timid about it all, like he's completely unaware or unsure of his own greatness.

"These paintings are_ yours_?" I ask breathlessly, turning to him. He nods and looks down at his lap as if he's too embarrassed to look me in the eye. "Oh my god! I had no idea you were _this _good! They're _amazing, _Peeta. Seriously, is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"Believe me, there's _plenty _I _can't_ do," he shakily and quietly replies. "But thank you..."

I start to page through his binder of artwork, holding my breath at the beautiful details and vision that he puts into his work. I'm bewildered by it all.

And then I come across one that I didn't expect to see.

It's another one of me.

I trace my finger over it, not quite believing my eyes. He had to have made this one very recently. My hair is in one braid— long and unkempt. My skin is tan, and my clothes are loose. I'm holding a bucket of blackberries, my face determined and a little dirty.

It looks just like me, every detail and every flaw is there. He didn't hide any of the ugly truths, and he didn't try to make me anything I'm not. But_… I look beautiful_.

Peeta _made_ me beautiful, and yet I look the same as always.

I don't understand.

"Peeta…" I whisper, taking in a deep, ragged breath, "Wow..."

His eyes go wide and he looks mortified. His mouth drops open and he makes a quick rush to grab it out of my hands. I hold it back out of reach and shake my head.

"I uh… I forgot that was in there," he explains, casting his eyes to the side. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and rubs it. I place the painting back down in front of me to study it again in awe, my mouth gaping at its magnificent detail. He says as if ashamed, "I'm sorry…"

"Why?" I ask, surprised, as I glance up at him in confusion. "It's… it's beautiful…."

"You _are_."

"I didn't mean it _that_ way."

"But _I _did."

I roll my eyes and change the subject back to his artwork.

"Do you have others?" I ask meaningfully, gesturing to the painting of myself. I'm curious to see more of just how Peeta envisions me, "Like this one?"

He nods after a moment, not meeting my eyes and appearing uncomfortable to even admit to it. He scratches his head and runs his fingers through his hair as if to alleviate his nerves. "I'll show them to you some other time, though. I think I've sufficiently creeped you out enough with these two already."

"I don't think it's creepy at all… I've never felt so_… flattered _before," I reassure him. I'm a little disappointed that he won't show me the others, but he looks so awkward at the mention of it that I know better than to pester. I place the paintings back into the binder, close it, and then look up at him with a sigh, "I really wish I would have known how much you liked me all this time."

He eagerly takes the binder and wastes no time placing it back into the drawer it came from. He turns to me, "Well, you do now, right? The only thing that's different is I'm not a kid anymore. I still feel the exact same way, though. Well, not the _exact_ same. I mean, I still want to remember everything about you and every moment we spend together, but I feel a whole lot more now than I _ever_ did—or could— as a kid. And my thoughts definitely _aren't_ as innocent—"He stops mid-sentence, scratches his head as if he's embarrassed at what he just said, and then rubs his eyes as he sits down on the bed.

"What do you mean?" I arch an eyebrow curiously, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. I'm sure I know _exactly_ what he means, and even though I'm not particularly sure I want to hear the answer, I still ask teasingly, "What _kind_ of non-innocent thoughts do you have about me, Peeta?"

His eyes go wide at my question, and his mouth gapes for a moment as he thinks of how to answer. "I… uh… I think I'll let your imagination run wild with that." He goes on with a small laugh. "Mine definitely has… especially since yesterday morning, and what happened on the couch. I can't stop thinking about it."

I nervously lick my bottom lip, looking away from him, and nod in agreement. Since he brought it up, I guess I can admit to it as well. I tell him quietly, "I've been thinking about it a lot, too…."

"You have, huh?" he smiles knowingly and then reaches over to tickle me. I try to bat his hand away, but before I can react, he has me lying back on his bed, red faced and breathless as he tickles me mercilessly. And, like yesterday, my hands go under his shirt to tickle him back. As soon as I start, though, he pulls back from me and hovers only inches above my face, his blue eyes intense and his grin very suggestive, "And what do you think?"

"I think… I'll let your imagination run wild with that," I mimic his vague answer, my hands resting on both sides of his waist.

"Oh, believe me, it _will_." He releases a deep breath, and then flops down to lie beside me. For a moment that's both awkward and comfortable in its silence, we just stare at the ceiling. I hear the movie still playing in the background, but it couldn't be further from my mind.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"Never mind, it's… stupid. Just… never mind."

"I highly doubt it's stupid." I see him look over at me from the corner of my eye. "You can tell me."

"Just…" I shrug, feeling my adrenaline pump throughout my body. I feel anxious, but daring, "I… _liked_ it."

"Liked what?" He turns on his side to face me, and his hand goes to my face to move some hair off of my forehead and away from my eyes.

"You know. Yesterday…"

"On the couch?" I give a slight nod. He runs his fingertips lightly down my face. I feel chills spread throughout my body and I close my eyes. "I did, too. Actually, that's kind of an understatement." After a moment of silence, he asks a little shyly, "Katniss… can I kiss you again… like that?"

I don't say anything, but I keep my eyes closed and nod, feeling my pulse quicken.

And then I feel his mouth on mine again.

It's the same feeling as yesterday, yet… different, too. Knowing all the things he did for me tonight, and all the sweet things he's remembered, I find myself wanting to show him just how much it means to me through our kiss.

Peeta's lips are soft against mine, warm and slightly wet, too. I open my mouth against his, running my tongue along his upper lip and then placing my own lips over it, sucking gently. I hear his breath catch, and a small surprised moan comes from deep inside of him. The sound brings a strange and intense thrill over me, and I find that I want to hear him do it again. I smile at his reaction and place my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to me.

I gasp as his hand slips under my t-shirt again as it had yesterday morning. His palm sprawls flat on the middle of my stomach, where he repeatedly draws his fingertips in slowly, as light as a feather's touch, then back out again. It sends chills throughout my entire body and prickles my skin in a very pleasant way. I release a small, involuntary sigh against his lips and my face instantly heats up from embarrassment. Peeta just grins against my mouth, and takes my bottom lip in between his own, running the tip of his tongue lightly along the edge.

His hand inches up a bit more. As before, my breasts nearly ache with a need to be felt by him, and the ticklish dull throb between my legs starts in again—this time much more intensely than any of the others. I can't figure out _why_ this is happening to me, but I know it feels good. It's both embarrassing and frustrating to me. I just want him to touch me, but I don't want to have to tell him. And he's so sweet and respectful and such a gentleman, I know he probably won't. I'm not sure if what I _want_ is what I really _need_ anyway.

I arch my back slightly to give him a hint, and hope that he will take it as such. His hand inches closer and closer… and then it keeps going and I frown as it stops in the center of my chest, right above my breasts.

"Peeta, what are you—"I start, breaking away from our kiss.

"Feeling your heartbeat," he whispers against my lips. He places a quick peck on my mouth again, and continues to explain, "Seeing if it's racing as fast as mine."

"It is." I bring him back into an open mouthed kiss, our tongues once again dancing and dueling for dominance over the other.

I don't know why I do it, or what I'm thinking… I just know I want to feel it. I'm tired of imagining what it would be like, or dwelling on it…

I just know I want him to touch me.

I bring my hand to his, swiftly moving it from the center of my chest and placing it on my breast. Peeta's body instantly goes rigid, his mouth stopping all movement against mine, and he appears to be in momentary shock.

He gulps, and I can feel his hand tremble. "Katniss, are you sure—"

I nod, keeping my eyes tightly closed. "Yes."

I give a loud, surprised gasp as his hand gently squeezes me. He kisses me again, more passionately and intensely than before. He begins to knead my breast with his palm, and I find myself thinking rather amusedly that I'll never be able to look at dough the same way again after this.

Suddenly, I feel his fingertips start to edge in on the bottom of my bra. I don't ever wear normal bras, only sports bras… because they are cheaper, last longer, and are much more comfortable, anyway. I know it will only take a slight push upwards of the material and he'll be able to feel my bare, exposed breast in his hand. My whole body is shaking—from nerves and excitement. I'm not sure if we should be doing this, if it's too soon, or if I should stop it… but I know that I can't. I _won't_. It feels way too good.

"Can I—" he starts to ask near my ear, his hand hesitating.

"Shhh." I nod. I don't want him to ask me permission. I just want him to do it. I don't want the actions to be spoken of out loud, I just want to feel them.

I bite my lip and arch my back as he pushes my bra up. I let out an involuntary moan as his warm hand covers my bare breast. His lips trail kisses up my neck, along my jawbone, and finally he brings his lips to mine again in a slow and sensuous kiss. My mouth opens against his in surprise as I feel his fingertips lightly brush over my nipple; it sends shockwaves throughout my body, especially down between my legs.

"Does that feel good to you?" Peeta whispers into my ear, and then kisses the bottom of my lobe, causing a whole new wave of shivers to cascade down my body. My heartbeat is pumping so fast, I don't know how I'll ever get it back to normal. "When I touch you like this?" He rubs his thumb over me again.

"Mmmm,"I murmur, unable to speak or even think clearly.

"Do you want me to keep doing it?"

I nod.

"Can I… _see_ you?"

"What?" My eyes bolt open, and I glance at him curiously. "You're already looking at me…"

"No, Katniss," he shakes his head, his face completely flushed. He leans down next to my ear again, while continuing to brush his fingertips over the most sensitive area of my breast, he whispers, "Can I see what I'm… _touching_?"

"Peeta…" I swallow anxiously. Touching is one thing, but seeing brings it to a whole different level. I'm not sure how I feel about being so exposed. And plus, there's certain things I'm not sure I want him to see just yet. I finish uncertainly, "I… I don't know…."

"Never mind," he replies, sounding both embarrassed and disappointed. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable—"

"You didn't," I answer, sitting up quickly. I cross my arms over my chest and look away from him, "I just think…you might not like… what you _see_."

He sits up and laughs, arching an eyebrow at me as if I've lost my mind. "Katniss, believe me, there's absolutely _zero _chance of me not liking what I see, okay?"

"No, not like _that_…."I roll my eyes, feeling my face burning. In all honesty, my breasts are the farthest thing from my mind about what I don't want him to see. Everyone has them, after all. It's not really _that_ big of a deal. "I mean, they're just _boobs_, they're nothing special—"

"No, they're not _just boobs_. They're _your_ boobs, and they're _more_ than special—"

"It's got _nothing_ to do with that." I shrug and continue faintly, "It's just… I have… _scars_…" I look at him seriously, raising my eyebrows to make a point. "_Lots_ of them. I'm afraid you'll laugh or find it gross—"

"Never," he reassures. He brings his arm around my shoulder and gives me a hug. "_Never_. I would never laugh at you or anything like that. I would hope you'd know that by now. You can't help what's happened to you, and you shouldn't be ashamed. And there's absolutely _no_ chance of me thinking you're anything less than beautiful."

"You'd _say_ that, but you'd be _thinking_ I'm ugly."

"Just because you have scars? You really think I'm that shallow?"

"No, not shallow. Just human."

"Katniss…" He exhales deeply and kisses my forehead. He brings my face up to his with his fingers and looks me in the eye. "It hurts me that you'd think I'd judge you. I don't care if you have scars. No, I take that back. I _do_ care… but in a way that I want to hurt who ever gave you the scars. But I would never judge you or think less of you, and never think you're ugly because some asshole _hurt _you."

I don't say anything. I just shrug and cast my eyes to the side. I'm not sure if I believe him. He says all of these things because he's sweet like that… but my scars _aren't_ pretty or beautiful. Over the years, Snow's actions have taken a toll on my body—mostly on my back, chest, and torso; places where no one usually sees.

Ever since I was eleven, he'd make me go out to the woods more times than I can remember and find my own switch—which he would then strike me with repeatedly until my skin broke and bled. He'd whip me with the belt if my switch wasn't sufficient enough, or if he didn't want to wait for me to find one. Most of the time, he'd hit me with the metal end. Then there was the time when I was fourteen, when he took a red-hot stove poker to the area right below my shoulder and left a nasty burn scar. There are many others like this, but needless to say, the skin under my shirt is like a road map of scars and bruises. I'm aware that it's not the least bit attractive.

"Look, everyone has scars, okay?" He continues, gently tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Some of them just aren't as visible to the naked eye. Just like the scars hidden under your clothes, I have scars that are hidden beneath my skin. We're way more alike than you think. It's why I trust you so easily… why I feel so connected to you. I've told you some things already, but there's a lot that you still don't know… just like I know there are things you haven't told me yet."

"Like what?" I ask him, frowning. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, looking apprehensive.

"Well… you already know my mom isn't exactly going to win any parenting awards," he starts with a cynical laugh. "Well, she's a lot nicer now than she ever was to me as a child, if that gives you any indication. She never was very fond of me… _ever._ She seemed to dote on my brothers, almost to rub it in my face that she liked them better. I don't know why. I don't think I ever will."

I move closer and wrap an arm around him, resting my head on his shoulder as he continues.

"She got worse when Proja and Appam both started school. It was like she was trying to push things to see how far she could take it; to see how cruel she could be without leaving a mark on me—as if it was some sort of challenge or a game to her."

"What did she do to you, Peeta?" I look at him with narrowed eyes, feeling my blood boil with hate for the woman who calls herself his mother. She doesn't deserve that title. She doesn't deserve Peeta.

"She'd lock me in a trunk upstairs, or in closet or a cupboard, all day long until just before Dad or my brothers came home. She'd threaten me not to say anything or I'd get the needle—"

My mouth drops open in disgust, and I feel tears stinging my eyes. That explains a lot when it comes to his night terrors. I feel horrible for him. I want to kiss all the hurt away, but I just ask with apprehension, "_Needle_?"

"Oh, yes. _The needle_," he repeats dryly, his voice shaky and quiet. "That started since before I can even remember. She'd always carry around a sewing needle and stick me with it where people couldn't see when I did something she didn't care for," he stops for a moment, letting out a long, ragged breath. I can feel his hand tremble within mine; I squeeze it to give him a little strength to keep talking. "She didn't care for _a lot_ of things. It was her all-around answer from teaching me not to wet the bed, learning the alphabet, to keeping secrets and not crying. Because if I'd cry or tell, it'd only—"

"Only make it worse," I finish, knowing the line all too well myself.

"Exactly," he agrees. His tone goes lighter, childlike, almost whispering with vulnerability as he continues to explain, "Anyway, I'd try to make her love me more, so she might be nicer to me like she was with my brothers. I thought it might make her stop. It didn't, though. In fact, the more I tried, the meaner she got. I'd draw or paint her pictures— she'd crumple them up and throw them away. I'd pick her flowers—she'd pretend to sneeze and stomp on them, then smack and yell at me, or lock me away for working up her allergies. She'd also do unusual, pointless things like make me stand in one spot for hours on end or in the rain, drink teaspoons full of hot sauce, or make me take freezing baths… for no reason at all, other than it just amused her to see me in discomfort. She'd make things up to punish me, messing with my head, like telling me I said a bad word when I had been completely silent. All I ever wanted was for her to love me and treat me right, Katniss, but… I learned as I got older that some people just aren't capable of it. They'll take that need you have and try to crush you with it. But you know what else I learned?"

He turns to me, his face pained at the memories, yet also determined and strong.

"What?" I ask, feeling speechless at his confession. I have so much anger towards his mother, and the need to hold him in my arms and protect him as a child, I feel utterly powerless about all of it.

"To be the complete opposite of those people. To kill them with kindness. If they want you to cry, you laugh. If they want you to hate, you love. If they want you to give up, you fight back. As much as they're mean, you're equally as nice," he turns to look at me and a small, sad smile comes to his face again. He lifts my chin, staring straight into my eyes, "If they want you to be in pain, if they want you to hurt, you—"

"Try to feel good…"

"That's exactly right. So don't feel guilty or bad about any of this, Katniss. With all the horrible shit we've been through, don't you think that we deserve this? To feel good? To make each other feel better?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I do," he answers his own question with confidence. He holds both of my hands in his and asks meaningfully, "Do you think badly about me? About me telling you these things that happened to me as a kid? About my night terrors? About my leg? Are you judging me or laughing on the inside?"

"No!" I retort immediately and defensively. "That would be horrible and mean. You can't help any of that!"

"Exactly." He raises his eyebrows. "My point _exactly_. I would _never _judge you for something that someone else did to you, and please don't think I ever would."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart, Katniss," he replies, making an X over his chest with his fingers. He leans back onto his headboard, placing his arms behind his head. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, tired breath. And just like that, I feel like I've ruined the evening with my trepidation. Not only did I stop a perfectly good kiss, I made him rehash and relive painful memories. And for what?

I glance at him in contemplation, biting my lip, and debating whether or not I want to go through with what I'm thinking.

Ultimately, I push the fear to the back of my mind. I know what Peeta was saying is correct. He _wouldn't _judge me. And we _do_ deserve to feel good; I want to make him feel better, especially after all he just told me. I gather all my courage and bravery, feeling my adrenaline pulse with intensity.

And then I rid myself of my bra and my shirt in one swift motion.

Instantly, I regret it. I open my eyes, looking down at my completely nude upper body. My mouth opens in shock and embarrassment, and I quickly reach for my shirt again, hoping that Peeta won't open his eyes before I can put it back on.

"What are you… uh…_wow_..." I hear Peeta's stunned voice break off into a cracked, hoarse whisper.

"I'm _so _stupid!" I feel like crying. This _isn't_ me. I don't _do_ these sorts of things. I can't believe I did this. Peeta must think awful things about me now. "Sorry… I'll just—"

Peeta places his hands over the shirt, lowering it gently. I bring my eyes to his, and he gives me an encouraging smile. I glance away just as quickly, my cheeks burning, and quickly cross my arms over my chest before letting my hair over them.

"Please don't?" He asks, caressing his hands lightly along my bare arms, removing them from in front of my breasts. I reluctantly let him, releasing a long, nervous breath and look back at him. "Please don't hide yourself from me."

"I look _ridiculous_—"

"You look _stunning_," he counters, eyeing me in disbelief. "God, Katniss. Do you _really_ not see how attractive you are?"

"I'm not." I frown and close my eyes so I don't have to see him look at me.

"You _are,_" he insists. "You're amazing. You're beautiful. You're perfect."

"And you're a really good liar—Oh! Oh my god…" I'm cut off as I feel Peeta's warm, wet mouth on me. Not on my lips, but on my _breast_. I definitely didn't expect anything like this, or for it to feel so… _wonderful_. His hand goes to my other breast, kneading and running his thumb over the sensitive point in the center. I feel his tongue swirling and flicking at my nipple. My hand goes to his hair, and I'm not sure whether to bring him closer or push him away. My whole body feels like it's on fire. _I can't breathe, can't think, can't believe… _

"_Peeta_… what are you… why are you…" I don't even recognizing my own voice or the words I'm saying.

"You're gorgeous, Katniss; every part of you." I look down at him, my eyes wide and unbelieving. He takes my breasts in both of his hands and gives them a gentle squeeze, "_Especially_ these." He gives a small chuckle, kissing right in the middle of them—right on an old scar.

"Not… not really," I answer, my voice weak and high-pitched. He takes his time, leaving lingering kisses on every scar or bruise he can see, as if to heal them. "You just… haven't seen many—oh!" His mouth envelops one of my nipples again, and I feel an amazing pressure behind it, making my whole body react. My head falls back and my hips move forward; the aching I felt in my breasts can now be felt with brilliant intensity between my legs. I feel wet and tingly down there—it's definitely a brand new feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

I don't fight it when he brings me into his lap, either. I rest my legs on either side of his, and wrap my arms around his neck. He kisses me on the mouth again— with more passion and desire than we've ever shared before. He pulls away after a moment, his eyes glassy and dazed, as he whispers breathlessly but with concern, "Do you want me to stop? Is this too fast for you?" He runs his hand down the length of my hair. I close my eyes again and shake my head.

He kisses my cheek, then my lips, my chin, my neck, my collarbone. I open my eyes abruptly and look down, just in time to see his tongue dart out and lick my nipple, before taking the whole thing into his mouth. I gasp in surprise and shock—_feeling _it is one thing, but _seeing_ him do these things to me, it makes my body react on a whole different level. I bring my hands to his head, running my fingertips through his blond curls, pulling him closer to me. Each flick or swirl of his tongue, and each knead and squeeze of his hand emits a soft moan or a sigh from me, and I'm powerless to stop it. His breathing is as erratic as my own; he releases small groans right after any noise I unintentionally make. Then, without even thinking about it, and as if they have a mind of their own, my hips begin to rock into his. I don't know why I do it at first—maybe just to calm the throbbing, intense feeling of needing to be touched down there. Peeta seems very shocked by this at first, but wastes no time in mimicking my movements. In fact, judging by the enthusiastic sounds he's making and the way he moves his body up to meet mine, he appears to be rather pleased and very accepting of this new development.

I know I should stop, we're not ready for this yet… but I can't. Peeta seems to be enjoying it just as much as me, and the noises emitting from him are becoming much more passionate and louder than before. The movements of his hands, mouth, and tongue are also becoming increasingly powerful and needful. His hips repeatedly thrust up to meet mine. I feel a hard lump in the front of his pants as it touches my center, but I try not to overthink it. I've honestly never seen a male's anatomy down there, and I'm not sure I'm even ready for it. But I do know that this friction, this erotic rhythm between us, makes us both feel good… and it's enough for right now.

His body stills all of a sudden, but I am too wrapped up in what he's making me feel and how I can make him feel, that I don't think anything of it.

"Oh god…" he mumbles. I kiss him and continue my movements against him. He says a little louder, "Katniss! I… I think… I think we should—" His hands go to my hips to still them. I'm kind of confused; he seemed to really enjoy it a moment ago.

"We _need_ to stop—" But even as he tells me this, he thrusts up rather powerfully, and pulls me down onto him with the same intensity, taking me by surprise. He loudly yells a very rude expletive, which is totally not like him, and I just stop and look at him with my mouth hanging open; both at his word choice _and_ his sudden assertiveness. His eyes go wide, and he looks absolutely mortified. "Too late…." He looks pained. He quickly removes me from his lap and I feel guilty, though I don't know what I did.

"What?" I ask curiously, sympathetically. "Did I hurt you? I'm _s_o sorry, Peeta—"

"No, Katniss," he answers with a gulp, not meeting my eyes. His cheeks are a deep red. I can't really read his expression. He looks happy, disbelieving, but also rather embarrassed. "I'm not hurt. Kind of the opposite."

"What do you mean? What just happened?" I ask in concern. I feel like I did something wrong, or there's something I'm just not quite getting. I have no idea what, though. I just know his whole attitude changed in a split second. We were enjoying what was going on between us, right? It wasn't just me? Maybe it _was_ just me. Maybe it was uncomfortable and horrible for him the whole time and I just didn't realize.

"You… you _really_ don't know?" He narrows his eyes at me as if not believing. I shake my head, frowning. He lets out a small, uncomfortable laugh and sighs. He stands up from the bed and goes to a drawer, retrieving a pair of jeans. "I think I need to go change first…"

"Why?"

Is he so disgusted by what happened that he has to change his pants?

He bites his lip and scratches his head, looking very awkward and unsure of how to answer. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay…"

I watch him walk away, feeling confused and wondering what in the world just happened, and how this will change things between us.

Somehow, I have a huge feeling that it will.

* * *

_For those of you who are patiently waiting for the M-rated scenes to make an appearance, consider this a taste of things to come. ;) Thank you to everyone who has followed, faved, and/or reviewed so far. I appreciate it tremendously. :) Thanks for reading!_

_**PS: **I am back on Tumblr, feel free to follow: DandelionSunsetFanfic (link is also in my profile, along with a wonderfully beautiful "Sever" Everlark!Wizard of Oz fanfart by Wollaston!)  
_


	23. About the Birds and the Bees

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

**About the Birds and the Bees**

"_**We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." – Dr. Seuss**_

As soon as Peeta closes the door to the bathroom, I immediately reach for my bra and shirt and put them back on as quickly as I can. My whole body is trembling with adrenaline and my mind is racing in every direction. The longer he takes, the more uncertain I feel about everything that just happened between us. I try to focus on the movie, but I can't concentrate on it. It's all background noise in comparison to my thoughts and the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

When he finally emerges, he silently makes his way around the bed and sits up against the headboard next to me. I don't look over at him, though. I _can't_ look at him. My face is burning with the realization of what we had done. I'm aware that what occurred between us wasn't exactly innocent, expected, or intentional. It was purely instinctual; we just wanted to make each other feel good for the moment. I'm embarrassed and self-conscious when I think about it now, though. I was naked from the waist up in front of him. His mouth was on my breasts. He saw my scars, and even kissed them. And I made all those embarrassing noises and moved my body so intimately against his. I mean, he seemed to like it all and even returned my actions, but maybe he was only being polite? Maybe it made him feel dirty? Maybe he thought I was dirty?

Even so, it's a bit dramatic to suddenly change your pants over something like that. And it's annoying me more and more that he's not making any effort to tell me what happened or why he acted the way he did, or why he cut everything off so abruptly.

"Sorry," he quietly mumbles after a few minutes.

I purse my lips and stare down at my lap as I fidget with the edge of my t-shirt.

"For what? I still don't even know what the hell happened. You haven't told me anything," I reply defensively. "And just so you know, I took a bath earlier today."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm _not_ dirty, Peeta, despite the nickname I'm called at school! Changing your pants was a bit unnecessary. I assure you, my poverty won't rub off on you and neither will anything else," I blurt in an indignant rush. I roll my eyes, but I still can't bring myself to look in his direction. I haughtily cross my arms over my chest, feeling annoyed and uncomfortable with him staring at me so intently. Even if I can't see him directly, I can feel his eyes burning a hole through me.

"What? That has nothing to do with…" He stops mid-sentence, and I look over at him skeptically. He rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, and continues in a serious, pointed tone, "You _know_ I would never think any of that."

"I don't know anything at all," I shrug. "Hell, after what just happened between us, I don't even think I know _myself_ anymore. I mean, what _was_ that?"

I take a sudden, deep breath as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "It was amazing, that's what it was. Look… don't go feeling regretful for living in the moment and letting yourself feel good, okay? Maybe I'm wrong, but you seemed to really enjoy it while it was happening… and I know I did. So please don't go over-thinking it or second-guessing yourself."

I nod but I remain silent.

I know he's right, though.

As awkward as it makes me feel when I think of the specifics of what had occurred and how intimate we had been with each other, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy every second of it when it was happening. It made me feel alive and carefree for the first time in a while, and I don't regret it. It might have happened very unexpectedly and rather quickly, but it felt nice for my body to feel pleasure instead of pain for a change.

"What happened, Peeta? At the end. Why did you act so weird and change your pants?" I ask before I lose my courage. "Just tell me the truth."

He clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders as if he's uncertain of how to answer or where to even start. He hesitates, but after a moment, he starts to explain.

"You know how a can of soda will explode if you shake it too much?" He immediately closes his eyes and shakes his head. His face is bright red, and he looks to be thoroughly embarrassed. I still don't understand why he's acting so weird, or how any of this has to do with soft-drinks though.

"Yeah, but I didn't shake anything," I answer slowly, wondering if maybe he had spilled soda on his pants without me noticing. But then again, wouldn't I have gotten wet too?

"You didn't _physically._.. uh... shake anything, but you definitely shook things up, Katniss," he replies meaningfully, raising his eyebrows at me as if I'm supposed to understand what he's talking about. I don't, though, and his vagueness is starting to frustrate me.

"What does that even mean?"

He chuckles as if he's both amused and uncomfortable, "I can't believe you don't know. Didn't you take Health class?"

"Yes. Of course I did. It was required." I narrow my eyes at him. "So what?"

"Don't you remember learning about the... ah… differences between men and women?" he asks unevenly. His face seems to be getting even redder as he brings a hand to the back of his neck and rubs it. "And… the _act_ that brings them together?"

I stare at him in confusion for a moment, letting his words sink in. I notice he won't look back at me and he's avoiding making eye contact. My own eyes suddenly widen in realization and my mouth drops open in shock as I understand what he means.

"I know what… _sex_… is, Peeta!" I quickly tell him, feeling absolutely mortified as I whisper the word 'sex.' I roll my eyes and avert my gaze, feeling my face burn. "I'm not stupid. You don't have to talk to me like I'm a child."

"I'm sorry, you're just so… _pure_," he says with a small, anxious laugh. I see him scratch his head and shrug from the corner of my eye. "I'm trying to think of a way to explain this without sounding like a total perv to you—"

I don't know why, but Peeta calling me 'pure' annoys me. I know what he means, and it's basically true, but it still rubs me the wrong way.

"Oh, so I'm _pure_?" I glare at him in defiance. "And I guess you're extremely experienced on the subject, then?"

He vigorously shakes his head, his eyes round. "No! I've never… not with a girl. I mean, I know things, but I've never done them. Not with someone else… I mean…" He groans and places his hands over his face as if he's totally embarrassed. He then peeks at me through the spaces between his fingers. "Katniss…?"

"What?"

"Have you ever…" He drops his hands from his face, letting them fall to his lap, and looks away from me. He releases a long, ragged breath, "What do you… know… about _things_?"

"What _things_ are you referring to, Peeta? You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what he's talking about, though.

"Sex," he blurts.

And I was right.

My heart is thumping wildly against my chest, my hands are shaking, and I'm not at all sure how to answer… or if I even want to. It's really none of his business anyway.

The truth is that I don't really know much about sex or acts of intimacy aside from the basics. We learned about all of that in school, in the same year my mom had married Snow. I was absent a lot then, towards the end, and I must have missed that particular lesson, or simply didn't pay attention and forgot about it. I had a lot on my mind then, I couldn't concentrate on much, and my grades definitely reflected that. Not having a television, computer, radio, or any other form of media at home since I was a kid has also kind of sheltered me from a lot of sexual pop culture that my classmates seem to be very well aware of. Really, the only way I know about sex at all is through bits and pieces of conversation I overhear at school and the technical, yet vague diagrams in the pages of my old Health textbook.

"I know enough," I mumble awkwardly, picking at the frayed ends of a rip located on the thigh of my jeans. "I know parts go into other parts, there's a lot of humping, and babies are sometimes made from it. It's all pretty self-explanatory."

"Do you know what happens when a guy… finishes?" He asks hoarsely, almost whispering.

"Sleep?" I answer, shrugging. I don't really understand what he means. I just thought people ended things when they got tired or overexerted.

Peeta laughs as if I had just told a hilarious joke, "Yeah, most of the time. But that's not what I meant—"

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"Katniss," Peeta snorts and shakes his head. When I look over at him again, he suddenly glances away from me. His face is redder than I ever imagined it could be. He looks like a tomato with blond hair. "I'm just going to come right out and say it…"

"Please do," I encourage, wanting this uncomfortable conversation to be over with as quickly as possible.

"Do you… know what an... _orgasm_ is?" He asks sheepishly.

I don't understand why he's so embarrassed about asking, or why he's bringing it up as it seems like it's totally off-topic compared to what we've been discussing. Not that I don't welcome the change; all this sex talk is really making me feel extremely weird and self-conscious.

"Of course I know what an organism is," I flippantly answer. "But what does that have to do with—"

"No Katniss," he cuts me off, chuckling nervously. "Not an _organism_… an _orgasm._ Do you know what one is?"

It sounds familiar, but only vaguely. I don't know what it means, or if I did at one time, I can't remember anymore. I don't want to admit that to him, though. I'm obviously looking like a big enough idiot as it is.

"I'm not sure," I shrug nonchalantly. "Maybe if you show me what one is, I might remember?"

"Uh…" He arches an eyebrow, bites his lip to keep from grinning, and appears to be thoroughly amused about something. "As much as I'd… um… like to take you up on that offer, Katniss, I don't think we're quite at that point in our relationship yet. I'll… uh… definitely try my best to make sure you remember it if I ever do get a chance to show you one, though."

"Okay…?" I reply uncertainly. He smiles impishly and leans over to kiss me on the cheek. I nibble on my bottom lip as he rests his chin gently on my shoulder.

"Look, I know this is personal… and you don't have to answer, but…" he starts in a whisper. I can feel his breath and the vibration of his words on the area of my neck that's right below my ear. Instantly, as always, my skin breaks out into goose bumps and shivers. I'm starting to think he's intentionally making a habit of this, and I'm not sure if I like it or not.

"But what?" I whisper back, feeling light-headed.

Peeta hesitates beside me as he tries to find the right words to express what he's wanting to ask. Somehow I know it's probably not something I'm going to want to answer.

"Do you… have you ever…" He clears his throat and finishes in a mumbled rush, "Touched yourself?"

I narrow my eyes in contemplation, trying to figure out what's so scandalous or embarrassing about that.

"Uh yeah, Peeta," I answer without a second thought. "I touch myself all the time. It's impossible not to."

"I guess you have a point there." He laughs and kisses my neck before leaning back. I glance over at him, wondering how in the world we even got into a conversation about this and why he's still avoiding telling me the real reason why he changed his pants. He's staring at me with a shocked, yet amused expression. "But… seriously? All the time, though? I mean, that's incredibly hot, don't get me wrong… you just seem so—"

"What are you talking about?" I cut him off, knitting my eyebrows together in confusion. "How is touching myself… hot? Look, I'm doing it right now." I bring my hand to my face and rub my cheek to make a point. "What's the big deal?"

He nods slowly and smirks. "Okay, now that makes more sense."

"Well, I'm glad something about this conversation makes sense to one of us at least," I reply a bit impatiently. "Peeta, if you have a point… please get to it?"

"I meant do you ever touch yourself… for pleasure?" He raises his eyebrows and, although his face is completely red, he now seems to be more curious than bashful. He leans in closer, saying lowly near my ear, "You know… _below the waist?_"

My mouth drops open in shock. I'm mortified. After a moment, I find my voice and answer him in a scandalized tone, "No… I don't! I'd _never_. That's… _gross,_ Peeta! Why would you even ask me that?"

I make a face and stick my tongue out at him in disgust.

"It _isn't_ gross, Katniss. It's perfectly natural to—" I shake my head in disagreement.

"It isn't natural to play with what you pee with."

I notice that the movie has ended, but it couldn't be further from my mind to comment about it.

Peeta is silent for a moment, and then I feel the bed start to shake. When I peer back over at him, I see that he's hiding his face behind his hands and his shoulders are heaving. Finally, the laughter he's obviously trying to hold back comes out full-force.

"What is your problem?" I ask, affronted. I roll my eyes and look away, crossing my arms tightly over my chest again. He tries to stop laughing for a moment, taking deep breaths to get back to normal, but then he starts to laugh all over again. "Look, if you want to make fun of me, you can just take me home—"

He shakes his head, and takes a deep breath to regain his composure, "I'm _not_ making fun of you. Your innocence is just… _very_ adorable—"

"And evidently very amusing, too!" I snap, feeling absolutely humiliated. "Don't talk down to me, Peeta."

"Oh, come on, don't be that way," he replies sweetly. He then sighs and places an arm around my shoulders. I attempt to shake him away from me, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he runs his fingertips down my arm and rests his chin lightly on my shoulder again. "I like the way you are, okay? I'm not talking down to you at all. I just found your comment kind of funny because…well…" His voice trails off and he simply shrugs as if it's obvious.

"Because of what?" I ask, turning to him in challenge. "Why is it so funny, Peeta?"

"Katniss, how do you think sex happens?" he asks with a small, quiet laugh. I remain silent and purse my lips, which are mere inches from his. His eyes twinkle mischievously as he looks up at me and continues in a teasing, amused tone, "At some point you're really going to enjoy playing with what you pee with."

"Oh really? Is that so?" I counter, trying my best to keep my face passive and appear casual— though I'm sure he can feel my body shaking with nerves anyway. He nods slightly as his hand drops from my shoulder and slips under the back of my shirt, leaving small traces with his fingertips along the bare flesh of my lower back. It's such a simple touch, but it feels amazing. I close my eyes and bite my lip to keep any sighs or other embarrassing noises from escaping my mouth.

"Judging by the rather intense way you were humping me earlier, I'm going to have to say yes," he replies jokingly, playfully poking my side.

My eyes snap open and I look at him defiantly, my mouth gaping.

"Whatever! I was not... _humping_ you!"

"Yeah," he snorts, grinning widely at me. "Yeah, you kind of did, Katniss."

"I did not!"

"Hey, I'm not saying I didn't like it, because I did. A little too much. In fact, I got the proof all over my pants—"

"What?" I abruptly ask. "I didn't get _anything_ on you—"

"I know that. It didn't come from _you._ I mean, it came _because_ of you—" He flashes a small, roguish smile and then shrugs his shoulders. "Anyway, let's just say that the thing I pee with got a little too fond of yours rubbing up against it…." I arch an eyebrow at him in question and then look off to the side, away from him, trying not to show how strange this whole conversation is making me feel. He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you're confused and I don't want you feeling pressured or anything, but I'll tell you exactly what happened if you promise not to laugh or break up with me?"

"Okay," I quietly answer, but I'm not promising anything.

He rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath as if daring himself to continue.

"You see… uh… when a guy finds a girl attractive, he'll sometimes get aroused, and as a result, ah… a certain important part of his anatomy… gets very hard and uncomfortable in his pants. And if certain things _happen_, like what occurred between us earlier—and you _know_ what I'm talking about—" He glances over at me meaningfully and then averts his eyes downward. I'm a bit speechless at his bluntness, and all I can do is nod slowly. He twists his hands anxiously in his lap, "Things build up, there's a certain pressure… a need for relief… and things just... explode. Sometimes very unexpectedly, I might add."

My eyes widen at this less than appealing mental image.

"You explode?" I ask timidly, almost whispering. "Does it... _hurt_?"

He catches my eye and shakes his head in amusement.

"No, not at all. It feels… pretty fantastic, actually."

"Well…" I gulp, feeling dazed and still a tad confused by this new information. "Good for you?"

"Yeah, it was," he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I roll my eyes and awkwardly smile as I avert my gaze.

I don't know what to say in return, or even how to react to his behavior. I have no idea what to think about what he had just told me, either. I knew things were kind of getting intense between us rather quickly, but I had no idea he had been affected like that. I'm not sure I'm ready for all of this, for things to go this far so soon….

"Peeta…"

"Yeah?"

"The movie's over. We should probably go pick Prim up now."

He frowns as if he's disappointed and glances down at his watch, "Yeah, okay."

I nod and quickly stand up. He starts to get up too, then stops and turns toward me. And as confident as he seemed mere moments ago, he now seems equally as vulnerable and uncertain.

"Katniss… look, I'm really sorry..."

"For what?"

"For… you know," he shrugs timidly. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I only wanted to have a nice dinner and watch a movie with you. I didn't mean to make things weird or uncomfortable. And I hope this doesn't make you think I'm—"

"You know what I think of you right now, Peeta?" I ask, cutting him off. I actually don't really know what I think about him right now. But I do know that it bothers me to see him think that he ruined what was probably one of the best nights of my life.

"Do I _want_ to know?" He slowly raises his eyes to meet mine.

I sigh heavily and make my way over to sit next to him on the bed, letting my instinct and daring take over. Without a word said between us, I take his hands in mine and squeeze them reassuringly. He looks curiously at me and I notice a slight trace of a smile curve his lips.

He starts to ask me a question, but I don't feel like talking anymore. I don't feel like thinking. I don't want to hear his truths and his feelings or his memories; I just want to _feel_ them. And I want to live in the _present_, with the hope for the future that Peeta seems to give me. I know this will eventually be a memory, like everything else, and I want it to be remembered as wonderful.

So I lean up and kiss him slowly and meaningfully, eventually bringing my hands up to rest on his warm, reddened cheeks. When we lean back and look at each other again, he has a lopsided smile on his face as if he's astonished by my actions.

"I guess this means there will be a second date?"

I nod silently, smiling a bit dazedly as I stare into his hopeful blue eyes. He places his hands gently on top of mine, which are still on his cheeks, and eventually brings them both to his mouth where he plants multiple, small kisses on them.

"So what do you think of me, Katniss?" Peeta asks rather shyly after a moment. "I mean, it's pretty obvious what I think about you…."

I bite my bottom lip and answer as honestly as I can.

"I think you're too good to be true," I whisper. "And I'm afraid of being right."


	24. Growing Up

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

**Growing Up**

**_"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending."_**

**_—Maria Robinson_**

Peeta and I are in the car, on our way back into town, and on the surface of things we're interacting normally. He's holding my hand and talking to me as he usually does—saying sweet things that I really don't deserve. Yet there's a noticeable difference between us; a sort of tension in the air. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's more of a nervous anticipation. I keep having thoughts of where our relationship might eventually lead. Before tonight, my head was full of worries about rather simple things like kissing and going on a first date. Now I have to worry about much bigger things such as the future possibility of having sex with Peeta, and his offer of moving in with him in November. Everything is happening so suddenly, and I'm not sure how to process it all just yet.

I keep my eyes focused on the scenery going by, but every so often I glance over in his direction. Even in the dark, I can tell his face is beet red. He looks over a few times and catches me staring at him, and we both immediately avert our eyes. I know he's still kind of embarrassed about what happened to him earlier. And I'm totally mortified that he's now fully aware of how little I really know about sex. I honestly didn't even realize how limited my knowledge on the subject was before tonight. I've never had a reason to _want_ to know more.

"Thank you," Peeta says, finally breaking the silence between us as he turns into the bakery parking lot.

"For what?" If anything, _I_ should be thanking _him_ for making this night so amazing and unforgettable. Despite the few awkward moments we shared, I couldn't have imagined a better first date… or anyone else I'd have rather spent it with.

I look at him curiously as he takes the keys out of the ignition and turns to me with a shrug.

"You know, for earlier." He smiles shyly and lightly runs his fingers down the length of my hair, his eyes following the movement of his hand as he does so. "For allowing yourself to feel good. For making me feel good, too. For not hiding yourself, and for trusting me. For… _everything_."

I don't know what to say in return, so I simply nod and chew nervously on my bottom lip. I can't seem to look him in the eye; it just feels as if it would be far too revealing if I did so. My mind keeps replaying the way it felt as his body moved in rhythm with mine, the way his firm, yet gentle hands gripped my hips and brought me closer, and how his lips and tongue indulged my breasts with pleasure I didn't even know my body was capable of.

And although I'm still not quite sure of the specifics of what happened to Peeta, knowing that he'd had such strong sexual feelings and reactions towards me is a little overwhelming. But if I'm being honest with myself, I felt the same way about him while it was happening. Maybe not to the same extent, but I do know that I liked the way it felt, I enjoyed the passion between us, and if _he_ hadn't stopped things, I don't think _I _would have.

My face flushes deep red and I'm thankful that he can't read my thoughts. I steal another quick glance in his direction and find him studying me intently with a knowing smile on his face. It makes me feel completely self-conscious, and I abruptly look away again.

Maybe he _can_ read my thoughts.

My breath catches in my chest as leans over and whispers into my ear, "I just want to let you know," his lips lightly graze my earlobe and his breath pleasantly tickles my skin, "that I find you _incredibly_ sexy. You're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen—"

"I am _not_—" I start to object. He places a finger against my lips, and pulls back slightly to look me in the eye.

"Yes. You really _are_," Peeta counters strongly. He cups my chin gently with his index finger and runs a thumb along my bottom lip, looking a bit mesmerized for a moment as he gazes down at my mouth. "And I'd like nothing more than to make you _feel_ just how beautiful you are."

I don't really believe him. There are girls at school that are way prettier than I am, and he'd be blind not to notice them. I know I could never come close to comparing, and that he's simply trying to make me feel good about myself. I would argue the point, but he'd just say more sweet and wonderful things about me and we'd be right back where we started.

I shrug my shoulders, "I… uh. I don't think you're ugly, either."

"That's nice to know," he chuckles, and I can't help but smile at the sound. He catches my eye and suggestively wiggles his eyebrows. "So… you think I'm pretty hot then, huh?"

"Sure, Peeta. Something like that," I answer with a snort and a roll of my eyes.

He laughs again and kisses me on the cheek.

"You're even more adorable when you're all flustered," he mumbles quietly against my skin.

I scowl, and quickly turn my face back towards his in defiance. "I am _not_ flustered."

"Okay," Peeta replies with a smirk before kissing the tip of my nose. He rests his forehead against mine, and starts to run his hands up and down the length of my arms.

The sun set a few hours ago, and even inside the car, there's a slight autumn chill causing goose bumps to prickle upon my skin. It was warm earlier today, and I hadn't thought of bringing a jacket with me. I didn't really notice how cold I was until I felt Peeta's warmth.

"I keep thinking this is a dream and I'm going to wake up. I've wanted this for so long, Katniss. I never thought it'd be possible that you'd ever let me kiss you or date you or touch you…." He places an open-mouthed kiss on the area between my neck and my collarbone, lingering there for a second, and my heart begins to race.

"I never thought you'd want to," I whisper as his hands move from my arms to my waist.

I take in a sudden deep breath as he lifts the hem of my shirt a few inches and places his palm flat on my midriff, letting his fingertips lightly caress the sensitive skin there. A shiver runs throughout my entire body at the contact, but I'm not sure if it's from the cold or from the sudden heat of his touch.

"I never thought you'd want me to," he whispers in reply, kissing his way back up my neck and hovering his mouth only an inch or two away from mine.

"I never thought you'd want _me_."

"Oh, I want you, Katniss," he assures me a bit hoarsely. "More than you think."

Before I have time to react or reply, his lips are on mine. I gasp at the abruptness of his actions, and close my eyes tightly as his tongue traces the outline of my bottom lip. I tentatively place my lips around his tongue and slide my own against his, slowly and sensually tasting him and wanting more. I rest my hands on the nape of his neck, bringing him closer, and his hand swiftly moves up to envelop my breast.

"Peeta…" I whisper in a breathless daze, "I… we… we should…."

_We should stop what we're doing_, I want to say, but I can't get the words out. We're in the bakery parking lot— mere yards from Prim and Mr. Mellark, and who knows who else. We _definitely _shouldn't be doing this in public.

And yet, I don't _want_ this to end; it feels too unbelievably good.

Besides, it's dark and I doubt anyone can see us anyway.

Peeta gently squeezes my breast and runs a thumb over the hardened, sensitive center, causing me to release a tiny involuntary whimper. Our kiss deepens, and for a moment the only things I can think about are his hands touching me, his tongue dancing with mine, and the intense throbbing sensation that's back between my legs again.

And then we're both brought back to reality in an instant with a sudden tap on the window and a muffled giggle.

"Prim!" I practically shout as my eyes widen with alarm. I slap Peeta's hand away from my breast, and turn to see my little sister smirking at me. From the mischievous, knowing look on her face, I can tell that she saw everything, too. "Oh _no_…."

"Shit, _shit_…" Peeta whispers in a panic as he places his face in his hands. "Oh god, Katniss. I'm _so_ sorry."

I take in a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves, and gesture for Prim to get into the car. She looks thoroughly amused at our discomfort as she hops into the backseat with a huge impish grin.

"The date went pretty well, I'm guessing," she remarks with a snort.

I abruptly turn around and send her a death-glare, but this only makes her roll her eyes and begin to laugh.

"I…uh… I'm going to go tell Dad I'm driving you both home," Peeta mumbles in a hurry and exits the car before I can even reply. I close my eyes tightly and lean my head back onto the seat, waiting for the awkward comments and questions that are sure to come.

I really just want to fall into a hole somewhere and die.

"_Sooo_…" Prim starts in a sly voice, but I cut her off before she can say anything else.

"Not another _word_, Prim! I _mean_ it."

She doesn't listen, though.

"You're so totally in love with Peeta," she says, her voice bubbling with suppressed laughter. "I can't _believe_ you let him touch your _boob_, Katniss." And whatever resolve she had for the moment is lost as she starts giggling again.

"I didn't!" I lie, though I know she saw it plain as day. My face feels as if it's on fire, and I know it's probably redder than a ripe tomato.

I _knew_ we should have stopped. God, I'm _such_ an idiot.

"Yeah, ya _did_! I saw it," she states matter-of-factly.

"Prim, I'm serious. I am _not _going to talk to you about this. Mind your own business, and just… _please_ _shut up_!"

"Fine. All _right_. Okay," Prim replies in a teasing tone. "I'll be quiet _now_, because I don't want Peeta to feel all embarrassed for touching your booby. But when we get _home_—"

"Whatever!" I snap, feeling my heart pound rapidly against my chest as I see him approaching the car. "Just be quiet all the way there!"

She immediately goes silent and I glance back to see what she's doing. She winks and places her thumb and index fingers to her grinning mouth, making a zipping motion with them. I roll my eyes and turn back around with a heavy sigh as Peeta opens the door and sits down. His face is just as red as I imagine mine is.

He doesn't say a word to me or even look in my direction as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. I know he's mortified at Prim catching him with his hand up my shirt, and he probably thinks I'm upset with him. I'm not, though. I'm just as much at fault as he is.

After a few minutes on the road, I hear Prim in the backseat trying to muffle her snickering as best as she can and doing a poor job of it. I can already tell this is going to be one long, uncomfortable ride home.

* * *

I was absolutely right.

The drive home is extremely awkward. I can't even bring myself to look over in Peeta's direction the entire time. Aside from Prim's failed attempts at hiding her amusement at the situation, she luckily stays true to her word and doesn't inquire about anything. I know I'm in for a ton of questions and inevitable teasing from her when we get dropped off, though.

I'm not even sure what's happening between Peeta and me at the moment, and I definitely don't want to explain _why _I would let him put his hand beneath my shirt, let alone on my breast. The answer is that I have no idea why I would other than it just felt good, but that's not exactly something suitable to discuss with my eleven-year-old little sister.

About half-way home, I guess Peeta can't take the awkward tension in the car or Prim's random bursts of giggles because he starts talking to her about bakery-related things. He asks what his dad had taught her for the night, and this seems to temporarily placate and distract her from our earlier predicament as she eagerly answers all his questions. I don't really pay attention to their conversation, though. I have way too many other things weighing on my mind.

I feel instant panic when Peeta starts to turn down our long driveway, and not just because of the embarrassing things that Prim will soon ask me. As humiliating as it'll undoubtedly be, that's really the least of my worries. I feel like I can't breathe because as soon as I see the dark gravel road that leads to hell, the realization hits me that it's time to come back to reality. This whole evening, despite its mortifying moments, was like a fairytale come true. For once, I felt like someone special; someone wanted, needed, cherished, and _normal_— if only for a few short hours. And now it's over. Now all the hopes and dreams of normalcy that I pathetically allowed myself to temporarily feel will come crashing down all around me.

Now it's back to being afraid to breathe or be seen.

I'm immediately filled with dread at the thought that Snow might be home right now, waiting to inflict some cruel punishment upon us for being gone all evening. It would be an ironic end to an evening of feeling alive, to be killed over it.

The car comes to a full stop and I finally look over at Peeta. I can tell that, like me, whatever embarrassment he was feeling from earlier has instantly been replaced with trepidation.

"Katniss, will you _please_ let me drive you—" he immediately begins to ask. I shake my head and release an exasperated sigh.

"You know my answer is always no," I say, cutting him off in an instant. "It's not going to change."

"Oh, just _let_ him, Katniss," Prim pipes up from the backseat, but I ignore her.

"Really, you should take your sister's advice. It's dark and I won't even be able to really _see_—"

"No!"

"You _know_ I'm not going to judge you," Peeta insists, frowning at me as if I'm disappointing him. "I always feel like the hugest jerk just letting you guys walk home in the dark."

"The dark is really the least of my fears," I answer. I quickly look away from him and open the door. "Come on, Prim. _Now._"

She sighs loudly and exits the car, knowing it's pointless to argue with me. I start to get out too, but Peeta grabs my hand, "Katniss?"

"What?" I ask, turning back to him.

"I'm _really _sorry about tonight—"

I shake my head and smile in spite of the anxiety I feel.

"Peeta, tonight was the best night of my life and it was all because of you. Please don't apologize for it."

This confession instantly brings a small smile to his face, too.

He runs his thumb lightly over the top of my hand, "It was the best night of my life, too, Katniss. I'm just sorry about what happened with Prim." I glance over to see her standing off to the side of the road, grinning and looking impatient to start teasing me. I roll my eyes and turn back to Peeta.

"I'm sorry, too. She's never going to let me live it down."

"And here I thought she was a sweet little angel," he chuckles.

"Don't let her fool you," I reply, shaking my head. "She's been a bit of a demon lately."

We both simply look at each other for a moment. We're smiling, though our eyes are full of worries and questions that we don't dare verbalize outloud. I can tell he's wondering what will happen to us when he leaves and, truthfully, so am I.

"You know, I _really_ want to kiss you right now—"

"You can't."

"I know," Peeta replies, arching an eyebrow as he looks over my shoulder. "Prim's got her eye on us. Just know that I'm mentally kissing you right now." He winks and runs his tongue seductively over his plump bottom lip.

I laugh and shake my head in amusement, loving how he can make me feel so lighthearted and normal when I know everything, in reality, is totally opposite. "For what it's worth, Peeta, I'm mentally kissing you back."

"It's worth _a lot_ actually—"

"Katniss, hurry _up_!" I hear Prim holler impatiently.

I sigh and send him one last wistful smile.

"Thanks for everything tonight. Really. I had a wonderful time. The date was… perfect. I guess I'll see you on Monday…."

His face turns serious all of a sudden, "Good night, Katniss. Remember you have the cell phone. Don't ever hesitate to call or send me a text, day or night, anytime. For _any_ reason. I'm always here for you, okay?"

I nod, retrieving a grocery bag full of left-overs that Peeta insisted I take with me. He didn't really have to convince me, though. I had already been feeling sort of guilty that I had a small feast prepared in my honor, and Prim wasn't there to share it with. I should have known he'd think of her too, and wouldn't have let all that delicious food go to waste.

I give him one last 'good night' and close the door behind me, feeling instantly deflated that our date has officially come to an end. As his car backs out of the driveway, the comforting warmth I seem to feel when I'm with him quickly precipitates from my body, leaving behind only icy dread in its absence.

"What's in the bag?" Prim asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turn to her and frown, "Food."

"From where?"

"Peeta's house," I answer shyly, somewhat thankful that she's asking me simple questions and not embarrassing ones. "He made dinner for me."

"Awww!" Prim gushes, slightly skipping as we make our way home. "That's _so_ romantic, Katniss! What did he make you?"

"All sorts of things," I smile. "He's a really amazing cook."

"Well, no _wonder_ you let him touch your boob!" Prim replies with a giggle and a playful grin. "I'd let a boy touch _my _boob, too, if he made _me_ a yummy dinner—"

My eyes widen, and I'm struck speechless for a moment. I then do the only thing I can think of in my temporary shock, and pull quickly on one of her braids.

"Ow!" she whines, rubbing her head dramatically. "That was mean!"

"You don't even _have_ boobs, _Primrose_," I scold, glaring at her with disapproval. "And even if you _did_, you better not let _any _boys touch them until you're much, _much_ older! Even then, it should be for a better reason than a nice dinner."

She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips.

"I do _too_ have boobs, _Katniss_! They're just not as big as yours yet. And you're _not_ the boss of me."

"Oh, stop pouting," I tell her. "You're acting like a baby and you look ridiculous."

"_You_ look ridiculous!" she retorts indignantly, her face turning red.

"So? Your point?" I ask, sticking my tongue out and crossing my eyes in order to cheer her up. I really don't feel like having an argument with her and ruining the rest of the night. She narrows her eyes at me and a smile comes to her lips, despite her obvious attempt at trying to scowl instead. "And I wasn't _trying_ to be bossy, Prim. I was just saying that if you _ever _let a boy touch your boobs, it should be for a very good reason."

"So why did you let Peeta touch yours?"

And there's the question I was dreading.

I don't really have a _particular_ reason—I have a whole bunch of little reasons that add up. My main reason, though, is that he's _himself_. He's Peeta. I couldn't imagine letting any other boy touch or kiss me the way I let him. I shrug and remain silent, but Prim keeps looking at me for an answer.

In a moment of spontaneity, and because I feel like I have a plethora of energy to disperse, I start running toward the house. I haven't done so in a very long time, at least for the fun of it, and it feels absolutely exhilarating.

"_Why are you running_?" Prim calls after me, but I only laugh and continue on. I soon hear her footsteps on the gravel, trying to catch up with me, but my legs are a lot longer and she's still quite a ways behind me.

I feel a mixture of relief and elation when I don't see Snow's truck anywhere. Deep down I know that the longer he's away, the worse he'll be when he finally comes home, but for now I'm just going to be thankful this amazing night won't be ruined, and make the most of it while I can.

When I walk into the trailer, I'm overwhelmed with instant oppression and desolation. I'm also hit with the disgusting stench of the full toilet bucket. It's dark and I can barely see where I'm going, but I cover my nose with my shirt and make my way to our room. I grab a blanket and head back outside just as Prim finally runs into the front yard, looking highly annoyed.

"Why'd you… you do… _that _for?" Prim asks, panting heavily as she tries to catch her breath.

"Because you were asking nosy questions." I shrug and place the blanket flat on the ground before sitting down on it.

"What are you… doing _now_?" She narrows her eyes in confusion and places her hands on her hips.

"Enjoying the night. It's nice to just get out of that stupid trailer once in a while and look at the stars. We don't do it often enough," I casually reply, lying back on the ground and placing my arms beneath my head. She's silent for a moment, and I glance over to find her staring at me as if I've lost my mind. "What?"

"Okay, where's Katniss? What have you done with my big sister?" she asks in a skeptical, accusing tone. "Seriously, what did Peeta _do_ to you?"

"Oh, shut up, Prim. He didn't do anything to me."

"You're running and smiling, and you want to look at _stars_. He did something. Or you _both_ did something," she says, and then I hear her gasp loudly as if a sudden idea has popped into her head. "Did you guys… _do it_?"

"Do what?"

"_It!_" Prim repeats in an excited rush. She lowers her voice to a whisper, "You know… _sex_?"

"No, Prim! _Geez_. The only thing we did was eat and watch a movie," I answer defensively, sitting up. "Not that it's _any_ of your business anyway."

"Well, I was only wondering because you both looked _really_ chummy in the car—"

"Ugh!" I cover my face with my hands, shaking my head as I quickly lay back down. Prim laughs and lies down beside me on the blanket.

"I don't know why you're acting so embarrassed. If Peeta was _my_ boyfriend, I'd be chummy with him too."

I remove my hands from my face and frown deeply as I look over at her, "You seriously worry me sometimes." And it's true. She's not even an official teenager, hasn't even went through puberty yet, and she's _already_ casually talking about sex, boob-touching, and getting chummy with boys.

She grins and sticks her tongue out at me. "You _know_ you wanna marry him and have a bunch of little Peeta babies," she teases. "Awww! And they would be _so _adorable and I'd be their favorite aunt!"

I snort and roll my eyes at her absurdity. "You'll be their _only _aunt."

"I _will_, will I?" She grins mischievously and wiggles her eyebrows as if I've just confessed something.

"In your dreams, Prim!" I retort, my face burning from her implication.

I've never really thought about having children before; I never considered it a possibility, and I still kind of don't. I'm not entirely sure I would ever want them, anyway. What purpose would it serve? What would be the point? Besides, I don't really see myself as the motherly type, and it's only a matter of time before Peeta realizes being with me is way more trouble than it's worth.

"I just want you to be happy," Prim replies, her voice suddenly quiet and sincere. She takes in a deep breath and gazes up at the sky as if thinking hard about something. "I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're working at the bakery and hanging around Peeta. You smile a whole lot now and you really never used to do that."

"I know." I don't say anything more than that.

"He's really good for you, Katniss."

We're silent for a few minutes. I close my eyes, hearing a whippoorwill in the distance, and feel myself start to relax and doze off; they've always had a way of making me fall asleep.

"You know Mom used to work in the bakery when she was a teenager, too?" Prim asks in a hushed tone all of a sudden. "Mr. Mellark told me a lot about her tonight. They used to be best friends."

"What else did he tell you?" I'm curious to know if he told Prim how they were also in love with each other at one point. I also just want to know more about who she used to be, and how others saw her. She's my mother, but I feel like I barely know her.

"Her favorite color was primrose pink," she answers, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "She had a natural talent for baking. They even changed the sugar cookie recipe to hers since the customers liked it better. He said that she could play the piano very well, her favorite animals were goats because she thought they were so silly, and she enjoyed going to the woods and picking herbs and plants—Mr. Mellark said she could come up with hundreds of uses for them."

I don't say anything as she continues to ramble on about our mother _before_ she was our mother. It's difficult to imagine the lifeless, skeletal shell of a person that's lying in a bed right now as this same lively girl that Prim is describing. It hurts to think of my mother as a teenager, with so many hopes, dreams, and talents, and then realize where she is now and what she's become.

"You know she even won a few beauty pageants? Mr. Mellark said she used to be very beautiful. He… he also said I look just like her when she was my age. I don't think I'm pretty at all, though," she says with a disheartening sigh.

"You're _very_ pretty, Prim," I tell her confidently, and it's the truth. I don't understand how Prim could think otherwise. I always assumed she _knew _she was adorable, because she is. "And he's right. Mom used to be beautiful, and you _do_ look quite a bit like her when she was younger."

"I just wish I would have gotten to know her… _before._" I don't really know what to say to that, so I remain quiet. "Mr. Mellark also said I could have a job at the bakery, too, when I get old enough."

"That's great, Prim!" I reply enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I think I might work there for a while," she says in a thoughtful tone. "I think I might want to be a nurse, though. When I get older. You know, so I can help people like Mom."

I open my eyes and look over at her with a smile, "You can do anything you want to. I think you'd be a wonderful nurse."

She grins back at me, seeming delighted at my encouragement. She looks away from me with a shrug, "Mom used to be a nurse too, you know. Before she got with Snow."

"Yeah." I already knew this, of course, and I always assumed Prim did as well. "She was a great one, too."

"Isn't it sad?" she asks pensively. "That she helped so many others get better, and yet she can't help herself?"

I nod slowly, unsure of what to say, and then feel panic wash over me.

"Prim… you didn't tell Mr. Mellark how Mom _is, _did you?"

"I might have—"

"You didn't!"

"Calm down," she replies. "I didn't tell him about Snow. I just said she's not well. It's true, Katniss. She's not well at all."

"What if he wants to come see her?" I ask in exasperation. "You shouldn't have said anything!"

"Well, he asked about her! What was I supposed to say? And anyway, what if he wanted _her _to come see _him_?" Prim counters, her voice strong and challenging. "What excuse will you come up with then? Because it'd be hard to explain why she wouldn't come see her old friend and the guy who gave you a job. It'd be easier to just explain why he can't come see her… because she isn't well."

I hate to admit it, but Prim has a point. I never really thought of it that way. I just hope that Mr. Mellark doesn't ask for details about why she's not well.

* * *

I wake feeling like a block of ice.

I turn to look for Prim and notice she's not beside me anymore. I guess she must have gotten cold and went inside to sleep. I groggily grab the blanket and wrap it around my shoulders as I make my way to our bedroom.

But as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I notice that she isn't there, either.

My eyes widen and my heartbeat quickens. I practically run to Mom's room, though I know it's a longshot because Prim has never once slept in there.

Yet that's _exactly _where I find her.

Prim has her head resting on Mom's shoulder with an arm draped across her skeletal rib-cage, and Mom has both of her arms wrapped around Prim. Mom's head is slightly tilted so that her hollowed cheek rests lightly upon Prim's head.

And in the darkness of the room, with only the faint glow of the moon illuminating the scene before me, it's both beautiful and heartbreaking. Anyone else would see a mother lovingly embracing her young daughter as she sleeps. Yet, I know that isn't the reality of things. I see a young girl clinging desperately to a strand of hope that her mother will become well again and remember her, and a ghost of a woman who is none-the-wiser as she sleeps and starves her way to a certain death.

The dim lighting seems to do well with hiding the many imperfections upon Mom's skin, and from the distance I am standing, I can almost see her beauty again. I can almost imagine her being young like Prim once, with the world at her fingertips, and big dreams about her future. I notice the resemblance between my mom and my little sister, and also the stark contrast of how time and pain can completely eclipse youth and hope.

I see the bag of left-overs on the floor and a glass of water on the dresser. Prim had evidently taken it upon herself to feed Mom, and get her to drink. It's not an easy task either, even for me, and yet from the empty bowl and half-empty glass, it appears she had been successful.

And it dawns on me that my little sister is growing up right before my eyes.


	25. Taste

_Chapter Twenty-Five_

**Taste**

_**"Life is not the way it is supposed to be. It is the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference." - Virginia Satir**_

The next morning I wake up shivering uncontrollably.

A cold front had evidently moved in overnight, plunging the temperature a good fifteen to twenty degrees lower than it had been. But that's what the weather's like around here when it's nearing fall—it usually changes very quickly and without warning. Well, at least without warning for _me_; I don't have a TV or radio to listen to any weather forecasts.

I close my eyes tightly and pull the cover up over my head for a few minutes in a feeble attempt to block out the sunlight, the chill, and the horrible smell that's permeating the trailer. I just want to ignore reality and hold on to the leftover feelings of yesterday for as long as I can before I'm forced to face the harsh truths of my existence. I eventually get up, though, grudgingly knowing I'll have to deal with the day one way or another. The rapidly changing weather only serves to remind of how much I still have to do before winter gets here. If I don't finish chopping the wood outside, we'll likely freeze to death by the time December rolls around. The trailer has little to no insulation and many holes throughout, so it takes a lot of firewood to keep it even slightly warm. It already worries me when I think of how I'm supposed to keep Mom from freezing during the winter since I'll be gone for most of the day and evening and won't be around to keep a fire going.

Lately I've been so preoccupied with the bakery and school that I've barely had time to do anything besides tend to Mom's needs and sleep when I get home. Due to her incapacitation, we have to make sure she eats and drinks a little something each night, even though it's usually hell to get her to do so. I also try to keep her clean as best I can with a wet wash cloth, but it's impossible to give her full baths. I use a baking soda and water mix on her hair, even though it's thinning so much that it clumps into tangles and falls out in chunks anyway—but at least keeping it clean prevents her from getting serious rashes and bugs from being attracted to her. More than normal anyway. We have a slight problem with flies and gnats, so I place moth balls around her bed to try to keep them at bay. We used to have cockroaches, too, but they went away as soon as they realized it was pointless to stay around. I think they got tired of being hungry.

As disgusting as it is, I also have to change her. Over time, Mom's mental and physical state has deteriorated so much that even something as simple as getting up and using the bathroom has proved to be too difficult for her. I have a blue tarp covering the bed so her defecation doesn't sink through the fabric of the mattress. Plus it's easier to clean as I just have to rinse it off with water and let it dry. We usually don't have toilet paper as it's too expensive to afford, so I have clothing and sheets cut into squares that we use to wipe with. When we're done, we place the soiled fabric into a bucket full of water and bleach, which I later rinse out and hang to dry so we can reuse them.

I've also made Mom some cloth diapers out of cut up sheets, and I usually change them daily—though sometimes I _do_ forget when I've had a busy or exhausting day. It's not something I'm happy or thrilled about doing, but I know if I don't that she'll get an infection or worse, and her death will weigh upon my mind as something I could have prevented by not being squeamish. So I do what I have to in order to keep her alive. Sometimes she lays in her own filth for days when Snow's home, but eventually even he has his limits and, after taking his disgust out on her, forces me to take care of it.

So aside from the fear that Snow has instilled upon me about escaping this place, I also know that leaving here would mean my mother's certain death—one in which she'd more than likely rot and slowly wither away in her own filth as she starves and gets eaten alive by bugs. Even if she's as far gone as she is, it makes me sick and break down into tears just imagining it. Despite whatever resentment I may harbor for her, no one deserves to leave this world in that way.

I sigh heavily and try to temporarily rid the worries from my head as I bring my axe down with force and split a piece of wood. Aside from the fact that it blisters and bruises the palms of my hands and makes my muscles ache, I've always kind of liked chopping wood. It's a fantastic stress reliever. As I sever each piece, I like to imagine the logs as people I despise—Snow, Coin, Mrs. Mellark, bullies at school… the list goes on. It helps, somewhat. Or at least it helps the wood get chopped very quickly and with great fervor.

It isn't long before Prim makes an appearance. She comes over, wrapped in a heavy blanket, and sits down on the ground without a word. I can tell by her deep frown and sulky demeanor that there's something the matter with her so I still my axe and lean on it as I turn to her with my eyebrows raised in question.

"What's wrong?"

She brings her knees up to her chest and covers them with her arms. "I don't feel very good," she answers quietly and shrugs. "My body hurts everywhere. I feel like I want to throw up and I'm dizzy and shaky. It hurts to look at anything bright. And your wood chopping is making my head pound like _crazy_."

"Well, I have to do it, Prim," I reply monotonously, looking away from her so I don't feel too guilty for continuing. "You know I don't have much of a chance to do it during the week now. It sounds like you just have a migraine. Go in the house and lay down for a bit. Cover your ears with a pillow or something."

"It smells really gross in there, though," she whines. "I can't stand it. It makes me wanna throw up."

"Cover your nose then," I offer impatiently. It isn't that I don't care about Prim feeling badly, it's just that I feel powerless when it comes to making her better. We don't have any medicine, and I can't remember the last time we've even seen a doctor. So we deal with sickness by ignoring it and hoping it'll go away, and I guess we've been lucky so far that neither of us have been seriously ill. "What do you want me to do about it? I can't lift that bucket even if I tried. You're just going to have to deal somehow. Maybe you're just hungry? Go eat some of Peeta's leftovers."

Prim shakes her head and purses her lips, narrowing her eyes in discomfort. She then tightens the cover around herself and begins to slowly rock back and forth. We're silent for a moment until she looks up at me with tears in her eyes.

"God, I _hate_ it _so_ much here, Katniss…" she whispers, her bottom lip quivering.

"Well, it's not like I love it," I reply wistfully. She hides her face within the cover, but I still hear a stifled sob escape her. I exhale loudly and let the axe fall to the ground with a heavy thud before walking over and sitting next to her. I nudge her shoulder with mine, but she still doesn't look at me. "I'm sorry you're not feeling very good. Maybe tomorrow I can ask Peeta to let me stop by a store and get some medicine for you. That sound alright?"

Prim leans her head onto my shoulder and nods, and I wrap my arm around her, bringing her into a half-hug. "You know I'm doing the best I can right now. I don't like it here any more than you do. You're just going to have to tough it out for me a little bit longer, okay?"

"Please just get us away from here soon," I hear her sniffle from beneath the covers. "I know you're scared, but Peeta would help, and so would Mr. Mellark. I _know_ they would. You just need to ask them."

I don't know how to reply so I just wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her onto my lap like I used to when she was younger. She doesn't say anything, only rests her head on my chest and circles my waist with her tiny arms. I can feel her shaking, even under the thick blanket, so I begin to rub her back in an attempt to soothe her.

"You know Mom said my name last night? When we we're falling asleep, she whispered 'goodnight, Primrose.' I think if we fed her and got her energy up, and kept her away from Snow long enough, she might start to remember things again," she whispers thoughtfully. "I'm afraid she's going to die if we don't get her help soon, though, Katniss. We're going to come home one day and she'll be…" she doesn't finish her sentence, but starts crying again. I don't need her to continue to know what she was going to say, though. She sniffles and continues shakily, "And what will happen then? What would Snow do with her body? What will he do with _us_?"

"Shhh, don't be thinking about things like that. It'll only make you feel worse," I admonish strongly, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze. "You know I'd get us away from here right now if it was really that simple. I'm working things out. It's just going to take a little bit of time."

Of course that's a white lie. I don't know how else to calm her fears, though, or make her feel better. I'm lost when it comes to thinking of escaping this place; I've spent countless hours dwelling on it. And Peeta's offer of living with him is way too good to be true. I _can't_ take advantage of his generosity. I know he's only trying to be chivalrous and helpful, but he has no idea the gravity of what he's offering and what it entails, or how much we'd all be risking—which would be _everything_.

"What are you going to do?" Prim asks with a trace of hope in her voice as she peeks her reddened face out from the covers. I bite my lip and look away from her so she can't see the uncertainty and trepidation in my eyes.

"Never you mind that," I answer shortly. "You'll just have to trust me, okay?"

She nods and luckily lets the subject drop as we sink back into silence.

* * *

Prim eventually returns to the trailer to lie down, opening a window in our bedroom for some ventilation, and I go back to chopping wood. I feel badly for doing so while Prim is feeling so rotten, but I reason that it'd feel a lot worse if she were to freeze to death.

I suddenly stop what I'm doing and listen intently, my heart pounding rapidly as I hear gravel popping under tires in the distance. Someone's coming down the driveway, and I'm hoping against all odds that it isn't Snow. I know it's about due time to face his wrath, but I'm not ready for it.

I'm _never_ ready for it, though.

When the truck comes into view, I'm relieved to see that it isn't him. However, it's someone _else_ that I would rather not see or talk to at the moment: Gale.

We haven't spoken since the misunderstanding I had with Peeta. I'm still not quite sure what to think of the little feud we had, or the things he had said to me. We don't have arguments often, and never about the things we'd discussed the other night. Well, not so much _discussed _as yelled at one another.

Needless to say, I know it's going to be an uncomfortable reunion. I really don't want to admit to Gale that he was right about Peeta having a thing for me. Or even more embarrassing, _me_ having a thing for _him_. And I just _know_ he wouldn't react well at all if he knew we were dating. So I won't tell him.

I swiftly bring the axe down and chop a piece of wood in half, doing my best to appear nonchalant and indifferent when Gale pulls up and steps out of the truck.

"Hey Catnip, it's a chilly one, huh?" he calls out to me as if we'd never had an argument. I can tell from his tone and demeanor that he doesn't want me to bring it up or discuss what happened. However, it only makes me feel like doing so out of spite and rebellion. I look over at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, but I don't say anything. I avert my eyes back down to the wood I'm chopping and shrug before I swing my axe again. He comes to stand beside me and crosses his arms, "So… planning to chop my head off with that thing?"

I still my axe as I turn to him again with a scowl, "The thought _did_ cross my mind."

"Oh, come on. You can't _still_ be mad at me? That fight was ridiculous," he rolls his eyes and smiles at me in an apologetic way. "Look, I'm sorry for assuming dough boy has the hots for you—"

"His name," I correct quietly through clenched teeth, "is _Peeta_."

"Whatever," he replies dismissively, adding as an afterthought, "I also know you're not stupid enough to be schmoozed by a rich little pretty boy."

"If this is your idea of an _apology_, it sucks," I mutter, sending him an icy glare before I bring my axe down with more force than needed. The piece of wood splits down the middle and the two halves fly in opposite directions. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath before I turn to Gale with a hand on my hip. "If you only came here to give me sugarcoated insults, you can leave right now."

"I'm not_ trying_ to insult you." He kicks a rock, and his face is scrunched up as if he's thinking deeply about something. "And I came here because I miss you and I was worried how you guys were doing. I would have come by sooner, but work's been keeping me busy."

"It's alright, I've been busy with work, too," I reply, rubbing my eyes. I smile bitterly at him, "Luckily I still _have_ a job, seeing as to how my best friend was a complete ass to my boss."

Gale at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed, but then he ruins it by asking with a defensive sneer, "Has the prick been giving you a hard time about it?"

I shake my head and snort, "No. He hasn't even brought it up. _Peeta _has a lot more _tact _than some people I know."

"Well fuck, here we go again," Gale sighs loudly as if he's annoyed. "Go on, please tell me how_ perfect_ this Peeta dude is, and how horrible I am in comparison."

He looks at me challengingly, as if bracing himself for me to sling insults in his direction. I can tell by the look on his face that he's tired and his feelings are a little hurt, though, and I find that I just don't feel like arguing with him.

"Oh, shut up! I don't think you're _horrible_. You're just a huge jerk sometimes."

"That _almost_ sounded like you accepted my apology," he replies with a shaky laugh. I raise a disapproving eyebrow at him and place another block of wood onto the stump to split. When I glance back up at him, I notice his face seems more serious and he's purposefully avoiding my eyes. "I _am _sorry, for what it's worth, though, and I really don't like you being mad at me. Every minute you're away and not speaking to me, I worry like crazy about you. You…" he pauses and looks back at me, "you mean a lot to me, you know? I don't know how I could live with myself if something bad happened to you or Prim and the last things we said to each other were hateful."

"Then don't say hateful things, Gale," I retort, "and I won't say them back."

"I don't _mean_ to. It just comes out that way. I feel really protective over you. You're like family to me and I don't want you to get hurt—"

"Yeah, well. You're doing a pretty good job of that yourself lately," I mumble and swing the axe.

"I know. I'm sorry. I guess… " he starts quietly, then sighs and stares at the ground with a deep frown. "I guess you were kind of right. About what you said the other night."

"What's that?" I retrieve my axe from the block of wood and lean on it as I turn to him curiously.

"The jealousy thing."

"What?" I whisper, not knowing what to think of his admission. My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. I'm not sure what to say. I don't want to hurt his feelings or make things any weirder between us, but he _has _to know that I could never be anything more than his friend. I love him, but in a sibling sort of way. _Never_ in _that _sort of way. Just thinking of being with Gale in the same intimate way I'd been with Peeta makes me feel uncomfortable and nauseous. "Gale, I… we could never… _ever_—"

"God, not like _that_!" He scratches his head and closes his eyes tightly as if mortified and appalled. "Not… not like I want to be your _boyfriend _or anything—"

"What, am I not _good enough_ for you?" I retort without thinking. I feel like kicking myself for it, though. In no way do I want to be Gale's girlfriend or for him to be my boyfriend, but the way he states that it's so unbelievable, like I'm beneath him or totally undesirable, grates my nerves for some reason. "Look, nevermind. This is just stupid—"

"Not _good enough_ for me?" He cuts me off, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Not at all. If anything, you're way _too good_ for me, Kat."

I glance at him skeptically for a moment and finally roll my eyes, "Stop being weird, okay? Just tell me what the hell your problem is."

"I don't want to lose you," he states simply, shrugging.

"How would you…" I chop into a piece of wood to alleviate the awkward tension between us, "_lose_ me? Not like I'm leaving this place anytime soon, after all."

"Once you start dating, you'll forget about me. I'll be replaced. You won't need me anymore, and things will be different and weird between us. They already _are. _You don't think so _now_, but you'll change_," _he rubs the back of his neck and sits down on a stump. "And most guys don't typically want their girlfriend to hang out with another guy when they're not around."

"You're being really stupid, Gale," I reply, sending him an incredulous look. "We've known each other forever. I'd never forget about you and nothing would change. And I highly doubt Peeta would care, he _knows_ you're my friend. Even if he _did_ care, he'd have to get over it. Anyway, it's _you _who's making it into a big deal. Just because he's my boyfriend now doesn't mean—"I stop mid-sentence, feeling my heart pound and my face begin to redden. I know he heard it, though, and it's too late to take it back.

He takes in a deep breath and furrows his brows before giving a small cynical laugh, "I fucking _knew_ it! So how long did it take for him to butter you up? Did he offer you a raise for a—"

"Go to hell!" I snap, cutting him off before I have to hear him insinuate anything disgusting. "Whatever. I really like him, Gale, he makes me feel good. He's sweet and thoughtful, and he makes me happy. And if you can't handle that… well, I don't know what to tell you." I move around the stump so that my back is towards him and swing my axe with force, feeling my whole body shake with anger at how indignant he's being. It's really none of his business.

"He makes you _feel good_, huh?" Gale asks with a sarcastic edge to his voice. "So what, you're already fucking him?"

"God, Gale!" I wheel around quickly, glaring at him in exasperation and feeling completely mortified. "I'm going to pretend you_ did not _just ask me that! What is _wrong _with you?"

"Since you're not denying it, I'll take that as a yes," he continues in a deadpan tone.

"First of all, what I do with Peeta doesn't concern _you_. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I don't even know _why_ you care about it so much," I blurt in a heated rush. His pompous attitude is making me so livid that my fingers are turning white and numb from gripping the axe handle so tightly, and it's taking all my restraint not to chase him off with it. After all these years, he should _know_ that I'm not that sort of person, and for him to insinuate that I'd immediately have sex with the first boy to show a slight interest in me is not only extremely offensive, but it's totally humiliating. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and flex my fingers to rejuvenate circulation into them. "And not that it's _any_ of your _business_, Gale, but I haven't done anything like that. I might be poor, but I'm _not_ cheap."

"Not like you'd tell me anyway. I know how his brothers are, and if he's _anything_ like _them_—"

"He's _nothing_ like them!" I quickly defend. "Peeta has been nothing short of a gentleman. I think it's unfair that you're judging him based on who he's related to!"

"Of course he's a fucking gentleman _now_, Katniss! He's probably sweeter than sugar, am I right?" Gale asks condescendingly, raising his eyebrows in a dramatic, pointed way. "Just wait until you give him what he wants, see how fast his true colors come out after that—"

"Not _all_ guys are like that."

"Yeah. They pretty much _are_. I'm a guy. I should know."

"Really? So you'd sleep with a girl and then treat her like shit after that? Nice, Gale. Real nice."

"I didn't say _that_—"

"But you just said _all_ guys are like that!"

"Not _all _guys!" he bellows, making me jump slightly from the abruptness of it. I bite my lip and close my eyes to blink away the tears that are starting to well up in spite of me. He continues in a miffed tone, "Just rich little _twerps_ who think it's cute to see how long it'll take for a poor girl to fuck him. I guarantee that's all you are to him! You're a challenge to him. A game. Don't be so damned dense!"

There's a tense and uncomfortable silence between us for a moment. I keep my eyes closed, continuing to take in deep breaths to calm my nerves and rid the feeling of wanting to cry. I won't let him get to me like that, I'm _not _going to cry over his ignorance, and I _won't_ feel guilty about dating Peeta.

I know he only feels threatened; he's being territorial and protective. I know I'm one of the few friends he has, and probably the _only_ friend who knows the personal details of his life. And I'm used to Gale's fire; he's always had a slight anger problem, especially after his dad died. But not about things like this, and I've never been so intentionally insulted by him—at least not since we've become friends these last few years.

I'm also aware that unless he actually gets to _know_ Peeta, he's not going to believe any of the good things I say about him. Gale's never been one for trust, seeing the good in people, or sugarcoating his feelings. In fact, he's about as blunt and brash as they come. And I doubt he really knows how much his words are actually hurting me. He's speaking without thinking, but deep down I know he doesn't believe the things he's saying about me.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Peeta might actually _like _me?" I ask quietly, attempting to keep my voice even and controlled. It's not an easy task as my body is shaking like crazy. I keep my focus on the ground, and avoid his eyes. "That he doesn't give a crap about how much money I have or having sex with me? That he just likes _being_ with me? Just _talking_ to me? Why is it so hard for you to believe that a guy would be genuinely interested in me? Do you really think _that _low of me, Gale?" I finally look at him in question. His face has softened slightly, but he still looks pretty incensed and self-righteous.

"No_. I_ think very _highly_ of you, Katniss. But, unlike _him_, I actually _know_ you," he replies derisively. "He doesn't know you well enough to like you. He just likes the way you look."

"And _you_ don't know _him_ well enough to make that assumption, Gale! In fact, you don't know him at all! You don't know what it's like when I'm with him. I'm happy. I feel alive. He remembers things about me that I'd almost forgotten. It's refreshing and new, and I wish you'd just try to be happy for me! I don't understand why you're being like this."

"I'm just trying to look out for you," he explains, his voice taking on a lighter, more nurturing tone. He brings his eyes to mine and I can see the worry and weariness in them. "I don't want to see you get hurt. I don't want your heart to be broken. And I know it's going to happen."

I snort loudly and give a cynical laugh. I shake my head and swing my axe down with force, burying the edge into the stump before turning back to him. My body is trembling with adrenaline and annoyance, and I feel so light from anger it feels like I could float.

"You think I can't deal with heartache and pain?" I ask rhetorically, gesturing around me furiously with a deep frown. "Look around! In case you haven't _noticed_, my life has been nothing _but _heartache and pain for years! Every day I wake up, I'm afraid that it might just be my last, and _that's_ not even what scares me, because I don't care about dying. It'd be a welcome vacation! What haunts me every minute of every day is what would happen to Prim if I wasn't around anymore, or if she ever gets too sick that rest and a hug won't cure her. Or the one time I go to feed my mom, and she's cold as ice and never wakes up again." I feel a tear start to roll down my cheek and wipe it away quickly and furiously, feeling stupid and weak for crying in front of Gale. I continue in a quieter, uneven voice, and lightly kick at the stump to relieve some of the tension from my body. "A boy hurting my feelings is the least of my worries, Gale, and as far as heartache goes—I _expect_ it. It's never been anything new for me. So thanks for your concern, but I don't need you to protect me. I've been doing a pretty good job of it, myself, so far."

I sigh and sit down on the ground, feeling very lethargic all of a sudden, and start to pick at a blade of grass. I don't look up at Gale. I know it'd probably just make me feel worse than I already do. I don't like arguing, let alone with him. I hate confrontation. I deal enough with it as it is.

"I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into," he replies quietly after a few minutes. "And what you're getting _him_ into. You better hide your relationship well in public, because if Snow ever finds out—"

"Don't," I snap, holding a hand up and cutting him off before he can even finish. "Just don't, Gale. Don't patronize me with your scare tactics."

"I'm not using any scare tactics. I'm telling the truth. Is it worth it? Putting Prim's life in danger so you can kiss and fuck a boy?" I open my mouth, momentarily speechless from his audacity, and narrow my eyes at him in anger. I'm completely astounded that he'd actually go there—actually try to guilt trip me with _Prim_.

"I'm not putting _anyone's_ life in danger! Not any more than we face every day _anyway_. And Peeta already _knows_ about Snow, and he's not afraid—"

"Because he doesn't _know_ the fucker, Katniss!" Gale counters loudly, his face contorted with disbelief and contempt. "And _really_? You told him about Snow? Are you fucking _dumb_? You barely even know him!"

"I've known him for as long as I've known you!" I shoot back with a sarcastic, scornful smile. "In fact, my mom used to be best friends with his dad. They were even in love with each other."

"Oh, well isn't _that_ just too fucking precious," he laughs in a condescending way before placing his hand over his heart and sending me an overly saccharine, dreamy look. "You could have been brother and sister. What a _beautiful_ incestuous love story!"

"You really need to go," I tell him finally, unable to take any more of his disdainful, degrading comments. I stand up, retrieve my axe from the stump, and turn back to him threateningly. "I'm _done_ talking about this with you."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going," he stands and holds his hands up in defeat. I bite my lip, feeling my head and body start to ache and throb from stress as I watch him walk over to his truck. He flings the door open forcefully and hesitates before sighing loudly and glancing back over at me with a scowl. "Look, just be careful, okay? I want you to be happy and if this thing with dough boy makes you feel good for a little bit, well la-di-fucking-da for you. Just don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face." I don't say anything. I just turn away from him and swing my axe downward, splitting a piece of wood in half on the first try. I hear his door slam and the truck roar to life. He begins to pull away, but then suddenly stops. I glance up to see him roll down his window and holler out, "Also, make sure he wears a condom! The last thing you need is baker boy putting a bun in your oven."

I purse my lips and glare as I flip him off with both hands. He returns the gesture with his arm hanging out the window as he drives from view.

I continue to chop wood to relieve the intensity of the anger and hurt I feel. I have a strong urge to cry, but instead of allowing tears to roll down my face like a crybaby, I just swing my axe and take deep breaths until the feeling passes. But despite trying my best to forget about the things Gale had said and insinuated, they just seem to replay repeatedly in my head like a broken record.

I can't help wondering… what if he's _right_? Peeta _is_ good at wearing a mask and switching his emotions on and off. What if this _is_ all an act? He seems genuine enough, but what if I'm just being gullible?

And then I remind myself that I'm being an idiot for even entertaining the idea. I remind myself of the lovely date we had. The movie, the dinner, the memories… it couldn't have all been superficial or a means to an end. The things he said to me were real, and he treated me with nothing but respect. I mean, he _really_ enjoyed my breasts… but I enjoyed him enjoying them. The feeling was totally mutual.

About fifteen minutes pass before Gale's truck reappears. He doesn't get out, though, just drives over and rolls down his window to, I assume, hurl more insults at me.

"What the _hell_ do you want now?" I yell before he can say anything. I toss my axe onto the ground and cross my arms, preparing myself to turn and walk to the trailer if he says anything mean. "I think you've already said enough!"

He shakes his head and sighs loudly, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm really sorry, okay? I know I'm being a huge asshole about all this, and… I'm sorry. You've done a good job making the right choices this far, and I trust you'll keep making them," Gale says in a hushed voice, looking regretful. He seems to be genuinely apologetic, but I still study him with skepticism as he continues. "I don't trust this boyfriend of yours just yet, but it's obvious that you're pretty fond of him. I can't say I _like_ it, but I'll live with it. And I won't say any more about it. I just want you to be happy, and if this makes you happy… I'm happy for you. Really." He raises his eyebrows hopefully, smiling slightly. "So… truce? Please?"

I stare at him for a moment, mulling everything over. As hurtful as he was about some of the things he said, I'd rather be friends with him than not. I just want things to go back to the way they were.

"Sure. Truce, I guess," I nod and add lightheartedly, "But you _know_, if you just _tried_ to get to know him, you'd probably get along really well—"

"Don't push it, Kat!" he warns and abruptly changes the subject, "I actually came over here to see if you needed a ride into town for anything."

"I do, actually."

* * *

Prim stays over at Gale's house as we go into town and pick up a few things from the store. I get some Cold & Flu medicine—daytime _and _nighttime, Tylenol, Vick's, Pepto-Bismol, and a slew of other things that might help make her feel better. I also pick up other things such as toothpaste, toilet paper, razors, soap, laundry detergent, deodorant, underwear, socks, and shampoo. Now that I have money, I find myself going overboard when it comes to buying necessary things that I used to consider a luxury.

Gale doesn't bring Peeta up again for the remainder of our time together and neither do I. Things are weirdly polite between us, even formal, but I reason that it's better than the alternative. He _does _ask how I'm able to afford all the stuff I bought, and I tell him how generous Mr. Mellark had been. He seems outwardly happy for me, but he's oddly silent and I know he wants to say something rude but he's refraining. Which is probably a very good thing.

When I get home, I hide all the stuff I bought behind the wood paneling in our bedroom.

* * *

On Monday morning, Prim and I meet Peeta at the end of the driveway as usual. She's feeling a little better, though she did wake up with a slight fever, a sore throat, stuffy nose, and chills. I gave her some daytime flu medicine and she told me that it helped a bit. I'm not thrilled about her having to go to school when she feels so badly, but I can't let her stay home by herself. Knowing my luck, Snow would come home and make her feel even worse. She's safer this way.

Things are noticeably different between Peeta and me now. On our date, we revealed parts of ourselves to each other—physically, mentally, and emotionally—that we're both aware no one else has ever been privy to before. There's a kind of unspoken intimacy between us now—an understanding, trust, and closeness that I've never felt as intensely before. And after the confrontation with Gale yesterday, I somehow feel more connected to Peeta by having to defend him. Maybe a little rebellious, too.

The first part of the school day goes by as to be expected—a few rude comments and giggles are directed our way at the beginning of first hour, but we ignore them and decide to distract ourselves by writing down quick notes and passing them back and forth to each other. It's nothing of great importance, just Peeta being sweet and me attempting to be sweet back. It's hard, though. Flirting has never come easily for me. Then again I've never actively done it before.

He starts with, '_I can't wait to be alone with you again. I've been thinking about kissing you ever since I dropped you off on Saturday_.'

I reply by writing, '_Only kissing_?' I look at him with an eyebrow raised playfully.

He grins widely and shrugs before writing back, '_Other stuff too_. _I think you know what I mean_.'

I feel my face heat up and glance over at him again. He winks and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I write, '_No, I don't actually. I'm curious, what is this 'other stuff' you'd like to do to me?_"

'_Probably shouldn't write it down here. Maybe I'll show you later, though,' _he answers and wiggles his eyebrows at me. I shake my head, suppressing a snort, and start to reply. As I do so, I feel him place his hand on my upper thigh and squeeze it gently. My eyes widen and I remove it quickly, glancing around frantically to see if anyone else saw. However, we're in the very back of the room and everyone's attention is focused towards the front where the teacher is starting to write lesson notes on the chalkboard.

I shake my head at him disapprovingly and he smiles impishly. I roll my eyes and feel my pulse quicken as I daringly write, '_Maybe I'll let you_,' and pass it to him.

I stare down at the desk, feeling embarrassed for being so forward. I hear him take a deep breath and release it slowly before moving the paper back over in front of me.

'_Let's talk about this later, okay? We should stop before the teacher catches us and reads this to the class.' _I glance over at him with horror on my face at the very thought of that happening, and quickly fold the piece of paper up. I place it into my backpack, and begin to write down the class notes. My mind is on Peeta, though. I hope I didn't say the wrong thing or come on too strongly. My heart is palpitating just thinking about talking about what we were writing. It's different to playfully write something down, but it takes on a whole different life when said aloud.

* * *

I meet Peeta by his car at lunchtime, feeling nervous and self-conscious. However, when I see him smile sweetly as he approaches, I instantly start to relax. He unlocks the doors, and once we're both inside, starts the car without a word of explanation.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously as he begins to back the car up.

"Going someplace where I can kiss you without people seeing," he winks.

"Oh," I reply, not knowing how to really respond. We're both silent for a few minutes as Peeta drives down the street and pulls into a quiet, rarely travelled gravel road. After about a mile and a half, he turns off onto a nearly hidden pair of wheel tracks that lead to a lake. From where he parks his car, I know that we are completely secluded and no one will ever see us here.

"I sometimes come here to think," he explains quietly, turning the car off. "It's really peaceful."

"It's beautiful," I say, gazing out of my window at the surrounding scenery.

"Not as beautiful as what I'm looking at right now," he whispers.

My breath catches as I see him lean over from the corner of my eye. He places his fingertips under my chin, and gently moves my face towards his. I lick my bottom lip in anticipation, knowing his mouth is only an inch or two away from mine and he's going to kiss me at any moment.

I glance down at his lips and my heart begins to flutter when I see them turn up into a half-smile. "So… about that note—"

Not wanting to discuss what we had written, I fill the space between us by bringing my mouth to his.

And that's how we spend our lunch together.

We barely say a word as we explore one another with our hands and mouths, frenzied and rushed, knowing we don't have much time. We kiss each other as if it had been weeks since we'd seen each other rather than only a day. His hands slip under my shirt without hesitation, and mine find their way under his too. I run my fingertips along his chest and torso, stopping right above the button of his pants, and make my way back up. His mouth eventually finds my breasts again—tasting, nipping, and sucking. I find the sensation as overwhelming as I did before; goose bumps prickle my skin, my lower body starts throbbing, and I can't hold back the murmurs and moans that escape me. It's amazing, thrilling, and unbelievable to me to be like this with him again… especially since we're in broad daylight and _should_ be at school.

He places his hand on the inside of my thigh, and brings his lips back up to mine once more. He starts to slowly move upward along my leg, getting closer and closer to the most intimate part of me, and I suddenly feel panic well up inside of me. As much as I'm curious of what it would feel like, I'm not sure we're ready to take things that far just yet. I cover his hand with mine and remove it, shake my head, and abruptly pull back from our kiss. I look away and whisper, "I'm sorry. We should… we should probably go back now. I'm… really sorry, Peeta."

I feel mortified and silly for being so skittish, especially with the things we've already done, but I just don't feel like this is the time or place for this big of a step. I also can't shake the things that Gale had warned me about from my mind. What if Peeta _does _lose interest in me after all the mystery and challenge is gone? I nervously chew on my bottom lip and continue staring out the window, purposefully avoiding Peeta's eyes. I jump slightly when I feel his warm, wet lips brush against my cheek and his hand cover mine. I timidly turn to face him, and he smiles at me in a comforting way as he squeezes my hand gently and entwines our fingers.

"Katniss, please don't _ever _apologize for refusing to do something you're not ready for," he reassures strongly. "This isn't a race for me; I'm not going anywhere any time soon. Not unless you get rid of me. I'm as new to all of this as you are, and sometimes it feels _so good_, being like this with you, that I get a little carried away. But I would _never _want you to do something you're not comfortable with. If we're both not ready for something, then neither of us is." He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the top of it softly. "_Never _feel bad about telling me you don't want to do something, or if you don't want me to. The last thing I'd ever want you to feel for me is obligation or regret."

He raises his eyebrows at me meaningfully, as if waiting on me to reply. I nod and try to think of something to say in return. My face is completely red and, as much as his words mean to me, my mind is blank on how to respond. I shrug and begin quietly, "Thank you. It's… not you, Peeta. I'm not _sure_ if I'm ready. I don't know what I'm doing, what we're doing, and I don't know _why_… " I stop and close my eyes, bringing my free hand up to cover them. "I like the way you make me feel and it's nice… um… _you know._ But maybe we shouldn't take certain major steps in our relationship on a forty-five minute lunch break?"

I hear him laugh, and I peek over at him through a gap between my fingers. He looks at me in amusement. "Yeah, I see your point. It's kind of rushing things on a whole different level." I shrug and smile as a way of agreeing, and he squeezes my hand one last time before starting the car and heading back to the high school.

* * *

The next few days go by in a blur.

Peeta and I start a habit of sneaking off to our secret, hidden place during lunch. We kiss and touch, but we don't go any farther than him feeling my breasts. In fact, he doesn't even kiss them like he had before. I'm a little disappointed by it as I kind of liked the way it felt, but I don't want to seem too eager, either. Maybe the way I'd prevented things from going further the other day had made him self-conscious about it, or he thinks we're moving too fast or that I'm uncomfortable with it. I feel like bringing it up to him, but I don't know what to say. I figure things will eventually go back to the way they were before _without_ me having to start an awkward conversation about it.

We barely have any time alone at the bakery, and when we do, we're always doing something work-related. It's been pretty busy lately, and Peeta has had to work on a lot of commissioned wedding and birthday cakes along with all the regular stuff. Mr. Mellark has also been staying late into the night to help out, though I have a feeling it has more to do with Mrs. Mellark being back home. Anyway, since Peeta's been so preoccupied with his decorating, his dad's been training me more than he has. He also helped me fill out what he calls 'government paperwork' for me to officially work there.

Prim is still sick, though the medicine is helping her get through it. Needless to say, she hasn't been very pleasant or cheerful. When we get to the bakery, Peeta usually insists that she go upstairs and lie down, which she doesn't hesitate to do. Luckily Snow is still gone and she hasn't had to contend with him on top of already feeling so awful. I wonder what he's off doing, when he's going to come home, and how bad it will be for us when that happens. The constant waiting and worrying is horrible, and however morbid it may be, I almost wish he'd come back soon so that we can get the pain and punishment over with and be done with it.

* * *

It isn't until Thursday night that Peeta and I have a little bit of breathing time together in the bakery. It's a slow night, he doesn't have any commission pieces, Mr. Mellark leaves early, and Prim is fast asleep upstairs. We'd had a rather intense lunch, and the feeling between us has carried on throughout the day with our glances and brief touches.

I wait for him at the counter in the back room as he finishes a transaction with a customer up front. When he finally returns, he grins widely at me and brings over what looks to be two thawed pie crusts. Only they're _not_ pie-crusts. It looks too crumbly to be a pie crust. I watch silently as he retrieves all sorts of ingredients from the shelves and refrigerator—butter, cream, salt, vanilla pod, lemon juice, mint leaves, and things called mascarpone and grappa, which I'd never even heard of before. As he brings them over, I try to keep up with all the ingredients, feeling a little overwhelmed as I try to ingrain them all into my memory. It amazes and impresses me that Peeta doesn't even have to look at a recipe book to know what to use.

Finally, he retrieves a bowl from the fridge with a huge knowing grin on his face. He places it in front of me and raises an eyebrow.

"What are you making?" I ask curiously, lifting the lid on the bowl. I smile and shake my head when I see what's inside. I bring my eyes to his and ask quietly, "Are these…?"

He nods and comes around to stand beside me.

"They are. We've always used each and every one of them." I can't help but feel a little bit of pride as I glance back down at the blackberries I'd picked by hand and journeyed to sell Mr. Mellark. It's a wonderful twist of fate that I would never have landed this job or even be dating Peeta if it weren't for these simple, small, sour-sweet berries. "I'm going to show you how to make the crème filling for the blackberry tarts. Dad already prepared the crumb base since those take a while to set."

I nod and bite my lip as he begins showing and telling me in detail how to prepare the filling for blackberry tarts. Honestly, though, I can't concentrate on what he's saying or doing because I'm too preoccupied admiring the look of pure concentration and confidence he has on his face. There's a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile on his lips. Each move he makes is specific, efficient, and meaningful. Besides, no matter how much he tries to explain things to me, I will never be able to remember it all… at least not a recipe _this _involved. He'll have to write it down for me, at least.

When the crème is off-white and fluffy, he retrieves the mixing spoon from the bowl and brings it to my mouth.

"Be my taste-tester?" he asks enthusiastically. I nod and place my lips over the spoon, moaning in approval as the sweet tartness of the blackberry crème dances delightfully upon my taste-buds.

I lick my lips and tell him in awe, "That's probably the most _delicious _thing I've ever tasted in my life."

"Well, there's still more on the spoon," he grins, looking amused as he brings it to my lips again. I don't hesitate before taking it into my mouth. I take hold of the handle and he lets go off it, chuckling slightly as he turns away and starts putting ingredients back to their original places. I lick the spoon clean, not feeling even slightly embarrassed about doing so. The crème is so good that not even a speck of it should go to waste.

He glances over at me with a smirk and raises an eyebrow, "Uh. Do you need some alone time with that spoon, Katniss? I can step out for a few minutes…"

I feel my face heat up and quickly place the wooden spoon down onto the counter. I roll my eyes and smile shyly as I cross my arms, "Not with the spoon. But I can guarantee that there will be nothing left of your crème if you leave me alone with it. It's really amazing, Peeta. "

"Well, you _know_… my crème wouldn't even exist without your berries," he replies, coming over to stand next to me again. He grins and points to my lips, "You have a little bit…" I lick frantically to find it, and he shakes his head, grinning amusedly at me. I bring my hand up to wipe it away, but he stops me.

"Let me?" Peeta asks hopefully, raising his eyebrows. I eye him quizzically, but finally nod. My heart starts to race as he leans in closer. I gasp quietly and close my eyes when I feel his tongue lap at the skin between my mouth and cheekbone. His warm lips then replace his tongue with a lingering kiss and move slowly down towards my mouth. He licks my bottom lip, tasting the leftover sweetness of the crème, and I tentatively bring his tongue into my mouth to let him taste more.

I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer, and his hands rest lazily on my hips. As our kiss deepens, however, he lifts me up unexpectedly and places me onto the counter. Without warning, he moves away from me and opens a drawer. I watch curiously as he retrieves a batter spatula and dips it into the crème, lifting out a nicely sized dollop of it. He brings it to my lips again, not saying a word, and I happily lick the spatula clean like I did the spoon. Peeta seems oddly enthralled as I do so, and I notice that his face is completely red. He suddenly sucks in a deep ragged breath, shakes his head, and turns away. I'm sure he probably thinks I'm being completely strange by the way I'm acting over the crème, but I can't help it. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.

"What? I'm sorry if I'm being gross. It's just really good," I defend myself, shrugging.

He turns back to me, smiling slightly as he comes to stand right in front of me. His arms circle my waist as he leans over to whisper near my ear, "Gross? No. Sexy beyond belief? Absolutely. God, Katniss… you have no _idea_…"

The feeling of his breath on my ear and neck sends pleasant shivers down my entire body. He slowly starts trailing open-mouthed kisses along my neck and eventually makes his way up to my lips—licking, tasting, and savoring my mouth once again. His hands move lightly over my legs, parting them so he can stand in between them. He then moves closer to me and places his hands back onto my hips, kneading them gently as we continue to kiss each other with fervor. I scoot nearer to the edge of the counter and reach down to lift his apron. I want to feel the warmth of his muscles beneath my hands, and I want him to touch me, too.

I gasp loudly and pull my hand away immediately, though, when I accidentally graze the thick bulge in the front of his pants. He moans against my lips and his hips thrust forward, and I find it strangely intriguing that I can get such a strong reaction out of him from such a slight touch.

So I hesitantly do it again.

I place my palm over him, feeling the warmth of it radiate through the fabric of his pants. I curiously and slowly trace my fingertips over the outline, wondering what it'd look like. After all, I've never seen a boy's penis outside of technical diagrams in my old Health textbook. I can imagine, though, from the shape and thickness of it.

Peeta's breathing is shallow and uncontrolled, and his kissing is getting more sloppy and unfocused. He keeps groaning and pushing himself into my hand…

And then the customer bell goes off in the front, causing us to jump away from each other as if we'd been caught in the act. Flushed and dazed, we both look at each other with wide eyes. He runs a shaky hand through his blond curls and takes a deep breath, "Katniss, can you…?" He gestures to the front. "I uh… I need to take care of something."

I nod, grinning as I kiss him quickly on the cheek, and feeling euphoric as I enthusiastically make my way to the storefront.

* * *

We get an unexpected rush of customers, and by the time it dies down, Prim is up and clinging to my side. Peeta and I send each other shy, knowing glances and grins, but we don't bring up what had happened between us again for the rest of the night.

When he drops me off at the end of the driveway, he whispers into my ear, "You'll be in my dreams tonight."

"I bet," I say, rolling my eyes and smiling self-consciously before I get out of the car and make my way over to a grumpy and impatient looking Prim. I feel both lightheaded and disappointed as his car backs up and out of view, leaving us in complete darkness. I wrap my arm around Prim's shoulders as we begin our walk home.

As soon as the trailer comes into view, I feel all my hope and happiness turn to dread and despair as I notice the familiar beat-up truck parked outside.

Snow's home.

Now it's time to face whatever wrath he plans to inflict upon us. He _will _find something to punish us for; he always does. And I know that since he's been gone for so long, that it's probably going to be harsh and painful. I stand still for a moment and close my eyes tightly, hoping that when I open them, his truck will be gone and I can go back to living a life where the only thoughts that fill my head are sharing sweet, berry flavored kisses with Peeta.

When I get to the trailer, I shakily reach for the doorknob and gasp in surprise when it's yanked open before I can even place my hand on it.

Neither of us has time to react before we're forced to the ground by something thick and wet. I hold my breath and try not to hurl as feces and urine cover every inch of my body. Prim is partially covered, too, though not as badly; I took the brunt of it. The smell is putrid and unbearable. I hear Prim start to cry loudly from beside me, but it just seems like an echo in my head.

I can't think, can't move, can't speak.

Whenever I breathe, the smell stings my nose and my throat, and I'm afraid to open my mouth in fear of any of it getting in. Eventually I have to, though, in order to breathe properly. I immediately start to heave as some of it gets on my tongue and the pungent waste invades my taste-buds. I vomit despite my best effort to control myself.

I hear Snow screaming at me, but I can't make out his words. It's just background noise to me as I try to process what's happening and regain my composure.

I feel something hard hit my back with force, knocking the air completely out of me. I try to breathe again, but it proves to be useless as Snow's steel-toed boot connects full-impact with my ribs, sending an intensely painful shockwave throughout my entire body. I hear a loud popping noise in my ears, my heart is beating fast—_too fast_, and I try to suck in air, but it's to no avail. I flip over and look up. If I'm going to die, I want to see the stars one last time. However, my vision is blurry and I can't focus. I can only see the silhouette of Snow standing over me with the bucket. I close my eyes in time for it to make contact with my face.

And then everything is dark.


	26. Choices

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

**Choices**

"_**So he tasted the deep pain that is reserved only for the strong, just as he had tasted for a little while the deep happin****ess."**_**― F. Scott Fitzgerald**

I regain consciousness with a sudden gasp of breath that makes my chest burn as if I've inhaled fire. I couldn't have been out for more than a few seconds, but my lungs struggle to function as though they've been deprived of oxygen for a hundred years. My throat is dry and stings from the stench, and it feels like my ribs have been shattered. I'd scream or cry if it wasn't taking all my strength, energy, and concentration to simply heave air into my body. As excruciating as it is, though, I force myself to steadily continue inhaling and exhaling—wheezing, shaking, and coughing uncontrollably in the process. I know if I don't keep doing so, I'll easily slip back into unconsciousness and might not wake back up again.

I _can't_ leave Prim like this.

After a moment of relearning how to breathe properly, my other senses become more apparent. My nose is blocked with what I assume is blood—it tastes like copper in my mouth, though I'm not exactly sure _where_ it's coming from. My face is throbbing and I know without a doubt that it's badly bruised and swollen. I attempt to open my eyes, but only one of them will open completely; my left eye only opens a crack. It stings badly as something dark clouds my vision, so I quickly close it again. I attempt to peek out of the other one and try to focus, but everything is fuzzy and unclear. I hear a high pitched-ringing inside my ears and the sound of my heartbeat, loud and erratic inside my head.

I then take notice of Snow's screaming and Prim's crying, and I'm fully brought back to reality. I clench my teeth together and wince as I slowly sit up. I rub my eyes and face to rid whatever bit of the disgusting waste off of it that I can, feeling somewhat relieved that there's blood clogging my nostrils, partially blocking out the pungent smell.

"You're lucky I didn't make you eat a fucking bowl of it! I can still make you lick it up off the ground if you keep it up." I blink a few times to get my vision to clear, and then hear a loud smack and a muffled scream. "I told you to shut the fuck up! Your bitch sister is still _alive_! I can easily change that, though. I've killed for far less."

"No! I'll be… g-good. I'll… I'll s-stop… crying," Prim pleads hoarsely as she tries to catch her breath and prevent any more sobs from escaping. There's a pause in which I only hear Prim's sniffles and shallow breathing, and I know it's taking all her might not to cry again.

I don't have any time to react before I'm pulled up from the ground by my braid. I stand on my tippy-toes as Snow brings his face an inch or so away from mine. His mouth curls up at the side in a taunting sneer, "I warned ya, didn't I? What'd I say?"

I don't answer. I don't know what he's talking about. It doesn't matter, though. Anything I say will be the wrong answer anyway.

"Heard you been makin' friends. I know all about your little lunch date. Didn't think I'd find out, huh?"

I gulp and shake my head, my heart quickening upon realizing Coin had told him about seeing Peeta and me at the pizza buffet the other day. I don't want Peeta to be involved in any of this, in _any_ way.

"It was nothing. Just a lunch break. And he's not even a friend! Just the boss's stupid son. And you weren't here so I couldn't tell you. I—" He curls my braid tighter around his hand, and I flinch as it feels like he's ripping the hair straight from my scalp. On instinct, my hand goes up to pull him away, but he grabs me by the wrist and starts to twist. I cry out, but immediately feel stupid for doing so. It'll only entice him to do it more.

"Did I _say _you could speak?" he asks coolly, his eyes calculating and menacing as he stares me down like a snake observing its prey. I quickly shake my head again and close my eyes. I bite my lip to keep from screaming as he turns my wrist again. If he twists it just a bit more, I know it's going to snap. "You're really starting to become a thorn in my side, you know that? I'd rather be rid of you. Less time to worry about rats."

"I haven't said _anything_! I promise. I'd _never_—" He releases my wrist and smacks me. Tears sting my eyes, but I somehow remain silent.

"There you go again! You see why I fuckin' worry? You never know when to keep that _fucking_ trap of yours shut!" he bellows. "I figured a shit bath would remind you of your place around here. Just 'cause you got a job now, princess, don't mean you aint still shit to me or you aint just as disposable—"

I try to block out his voice and sink into my thoughts. It's better not to listen to a word he says. Fear, hate, taunting, paranoia, threats… that's all it ever is. I can't say anything or I'll make things worse. Nothing I add will alleviate the situation. I just have to get through this. I just have to stay alive until he gets bored and leaves me alone. I try to remember happy things to get through his tirade, like Peeta's blackberry crème and how delicious it was. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted. If I imagine it strongly enough, I can almost smell and taste it again. Just like I can almost feel Peeta's tongue dancing on my lips and his gentle hands upon my skin….

And then I'm forced back to reality as Snow pulls my braid a bit more and starts to scream, "Are you fucking _listening_ to me? Where the hell is it?"

"What…" I start to whisper in confusion. He spits in my face, which doesn't faze me at this point. I'm covered in feces and urine. His saliva is a bit redundant.

"Don't play dumb with me! The fucking _money._ Where is it?"

"Oh!" I quickly reach into my pocket and retrieve a wad of cash that I've had ready for a confrontation like this. It's only two hundred and fifty dollars, but in small bills so it looks like a lot more. He wastes no time stealing it from my hand as soon as he sees it and promptly pushes me to the ground with force, knocking the breath out of my lungs again.

He laughs as he starts to count it before nodding and smiling sadistically down at me, "This all of it? And you better _not_ fucking lie to me!"

"It's all of it. I swear!" I lie. He has no way of knowing otherwise, though. Mr. Mellark assured me the other day that he would never discuss my earnings with anyone other than me, unless I approved it beforehand. Obviously Snow will never be one of those people I approve.

"You should feel lucky you have a use."

He pockets the money and promptly starts walking towards Prim. My eyes widen and I shake my head as I realize he's going to do something horrible to her to send me some stupid message. A small, startled cry escapes her as he pulls her up by the hair. She squirms a bit, but he grabs her by the arm and starts to twist, and she promptly stops struggling. He then turns her towards me and wraps his hand threateningly around the front of her neck. I feel like I could die just from the pure terror in her eyes. She's too young to have to endure any of this, and I feel like it's all my fault.

"You love your baby sister, don't you?" He raises his eyebrows. I nod quickly, seeing his hand start to become tighter around her throat. Her lips quiver as she presses them together and tears slip freely down her cheeks as she tightly closes her eyes. "Keep your fucking mouth _shut_ then! If I hear so much as a peep that you've been telling secrets, I'll make sure you have a front-row seat as I slowly cut her up into tiny pieces. Hell, I might even make you help. Wouldn't that be fun?" He runs a hand over her cheek in a mockingly tender way. His other hand, however, only tightens on her neck. She gags slightly as he begins to close off her airway. "And remember, happy meddlers can have very unhappy accidents. If they start asking questions, you tell them to fuck off or I _will _send the message the hard way. Think twice about blabbing. You know I don't play games. I got eyes and ears everywhere."

I keep quiet and continue to nod. I don't want to say anything that he might take out on Prim.

He studies me intently for a moment, as if weighing whether or not I'm to be believed, before tossing Prim towards me. She falls down in front of me, but I quickly reach out to bring her into my embrace. She buries her face into my soiled chest, taking big gulps of air, and wraps her arms tightly around my waist. It hurts, but I can't bring myself to pry her away. It's worth enduring the pain, to have her in my arms and know she's safe there.

"You're not coming into the house all filthy like that," he says flippantly.

I close my eyes and soothingly rub Prim's back as she shakes frantically in my arms.

"I really do enjoy these little family bonding moments," Snow laughs, his voice taking on a lighter tone as if we're playing a board game or something. "You know, I wouldn't be so mean if you'd just do what you're told. I love you girls. I'd kill you in a heartbeat if it came to it, but never doubt that I love you. Just don't fuck with me. Know your place."

He says a few more things—thinly veiled threats and obvious lies, which I block out for the most part—before he finally retreats into the trailer, slamming the door behind him and locking it. No more than he does so, I stand up, grab Prim's hand, and start walking towards the lake as fast as my legs will take me. I need to put as much distance between us and Snow as possible. I need to get to a place where I can feel safe again.

Once we're in the woods and the trailer is far from view, I stop and rest against a tree. I bring my arms around my ribs and take in a few deep, wheezing breaths before my legs give out and I fall to the ground. I lean my head back against the tree and lose my composure as I start crying. Luckily it's pitch-black in the woods and the trees are so thick and tall that even light from the moon barely makes it to the ground, making it difficult for Prim to see my tears. I try not to make a sound as I let my fears, anguish, and agony pour down my face. I feel so weak, hopeless, and hurt, I don't know if I even have the strength in me to get up again.

"Do you think they're broken?" Prim asks after a minute, her voice raspy and nearly gone. "Your ribs? He kicked you pretty hard. When you passed out, I really thought he killed you. I was _so_ scared, Katniss…."

"I don't know, it hurts pretty bad though," I answer, taking in a few deep, painful breaths to calm down. I clench my jaw and bring a hand to my eyes to wipe away the tears. It's pointless to cry anyway. I know it's not going to make anything better. As horrible as I feel, I know I have to get back up and keep going. We can't stay covered in filth all night, and I don't want Prim getting any sicker than she already is. I sigh heavily and add as an afterthought as I start to stand again, "Probably just bruised. I'll be okay. Come on, let's go to the lake and get this shit off of us." I grunt, trying to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain in my chest and sides as I begin to move forward. I notice Prim is still standing in place, however, as I don't hear her footprints with mine. I turn back around and ask her impatiently, "What?"

"We're taking a bath in the lake?" she asks and although I can't see her face, I can hear the trepidation in her voice. "But it's so cold…."

"It's not freezing out. You'll survive. Or would you rather be covered with poop?" I snap. "Now _come on_, Prim. Don't be a wuss."

I keep walking and she eventually catches up to me without a word. Soon we're at the lake, and I realize this is going to be the hard part. While it's not freezing yet, the water is still pretty chilly and it's going to be very cold mixed with the cool night breeze. I brought my backpack with me, but I forgot to place an extra change of clothes in it for us the night before. Luckily I have some soap and shampoo, though, so we can at least clean ourselves up.

"Well, come here," I whisper. Prim slowly makes her way over to me and I turn her around to start unbraiding her hair. "There's a little more light out here than there was in the woods, but not by much. It's going to be cold in there, so we're going to try to get as clean as possible in as short amount of time as we can. We're going to have to help each other out. Especially so we don't lose the soap, okay?" Prim nods, but doesn't say anything. She's already shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm and so am I. I have no idea how we're going to make it through the night in wet clothes, but I also know we can't stay the way we are. I'd go to Gale's, but it's far too long of a walk with my ribs the way they are. I'd probably only make it half way there and collapse. Prim's in no shape to be walking that far, either. And his phone was shut off a few months ago, so I can't exactly call him.

"What are we going to do after…?" she asks quietly, her voice trembling.

I know what she means, but I don't know how to answer, so I don't. I unbraid my hair and grab the soap and shampoo before heading to the lake. Right before I step into the water, I turn to Prim and nod for her to join me. She sighs and finally makes her way over. We hold hands and our breath as we start to walk into the depths of the lake. My skin breaks out into shivers and goose bumps, and my teeth begin to chatter. The temperature of the water isn't freezing yet, but it doesn't seem too far from it. Or at least it feels that way after all the day-time summer bathing we've done before this. The water feels like liquid ice against my flesh and I can't seem to catch my breath. I hear Prim whimper from beside me and stop when the water is at my waist.

"Okay, let's get this over with," I mutter through shaky lips. She gives a tense jerk of her head in agreement. "On the count of three, we both dunk our heads."

"But—" she starts to protest.

"Prim. Don't argue. We're covered. We have to clean our hair. I don't like this anymore than you do. Here, you hold the shampoo bottle since it'll be easier to grip than wet soap." She grabs it from my hand rather hastily, but doesn't say anything. I know she's frustrated, cold, and angry, but there's nothing I can do about it. This is the only option we have besides wallowing in our own waste. "Now, on the count of three. One… two…"

"Wait!" She stops me before I start to dunk my head. "Katniss?"

"_Prim_?" I counter brusquely, feeling extremely annoyed that she's prolonging this ordeal.

"If… if we do this," she asks timidly, but hopefully. "Can you call Peeta after?"

"What?" I snap. "_Why_?"

"Because he'd help us. He'd probably give us a warm place to sleep."

"Did you _not_ hear a word Snow said back there?" I retort bitterly. "Do you really want to get Peeta hurt or killed? Don't be selfish, Prim."

"I don't think Snow would do anything to him—"

"Then you're delusional."

"Please, Katniss?" Prim begs. "I don't want to stay out here in the cold, all wet for the whole night. Do you want me to get even sicker and die? Do you love Peeta more than me?"

"That's an unfair comparison," I answer with a sigh, but it does make me worry about Prim's condition. I'd never forgive myself if she had asked me to call for help and then wound up dying because I was too hesitant to do anything. "And I don't _love_ Peeta!"

"Please call him? For me? Please? Please? Please?" she starts to chant.

"Whatever!" I give in, wondering what the hell I'm agreeing to and how I'm going to explain this to him. Or how I'm ever going to forgive myself if something happens to him by getting him involved in all this. "I'll call him, okay? Now _shut up_ and let's get this over with."

We make sure to clean and rinse every bit of our clothing, skin, and hair before finally sitting down on dry land. We're both shivering furiously and our teeth is chattering so much that it's impossible to control it, making it hard for either of us to even talk. My chest aches even more horrendously than before and I'm starting to feel dizzy again—like I might pass out from the pain or the lack of oxygen to my lungs.

"C-call Peeta now?" Prim insists, leaning her body into mine for warmth. I nod and attempt to gather my courage. This isn't the time for pride or paranoia. As embarrassing as it will be to ask for his help, he's my only option. I know we can't stay out here like this all night; we _both_ might die of pneumonia if we do. I sigh before retrieving the cell phone from my backpack, which is still covered in filth. Luckily none of it got on the phone, though. However, the backpack will have to stay here until I can clean it later. Peeta always asks to charge the phone when we're at the bakery so Snow won't see it at home, and I'm glad he thought of it. I feel nervous and a little hopeful as the screen lights up and I dial Peeta's number. My heart races as I shakily place the cell to my ear, closing my eyes in anticipation of him answering and fearfully wondering about what I'm going to say.

"Hello?" he answers. I feel like crying when I hear his voice, although I'm not entirely sure why.

"Peeta?" I whisper.

"Katniss? Is that you?" He sounds confused, and his confusion confuses me. A tear falls down my cheek and I wipe it away, feeling stupid for being so weak.

"Yes," I reply and add sarcastically, "Why? Are you in the habit of getting late night phone calls from _other _women?"

Prim shakes her head and covers her face with her hands as she mumbles with a groan, "_Oh my god,_ Katniss…."

I hear Peeta snort on the other end and give a small chuckle, "No. I can't say I am. Just surprised to hear from you, that's all. Uh… are you okay?"

I gulp and remain silent for a moment, wondering how exactly I should answer. Finally I just shrug and tell him the truth.

"No…" I say, taking in a deep breath without thinking. I give a cry of discomfort as my ribs start to twinge and throb from the pressure of it. "I'm really not."

"Where are you? I'll come get you right now. Are you hurt?" he asks in a worried rush.

"Sort of. Um. Prim's with me, too. We just need a place to stay tonight… if it's not too much—"

He cuts me off with an adamant, "_Never_. It's _never_ too much. I'll be on my way. Where do you want me to pick you up?"

"The end of the driveway, in about fifteen minutes?"

"Okay. I'll be there in ten."

"Thank you so much, Peeta. I owe you," I whisper, trying to keep myself from breaking down into sobs. I hear Prim give me a triumphant 'I told you so' from beside me.

"You don't _owe_ me anything, _ever._ You two just try to stay safe until I get there, all right? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Sure. Oh, and Peeta? You might want to bring some towels…."

"Why?"

"Just… you'll know why when you see me."

* * *

It takes us about twenty minutes to get to the end of the driveway. We purposefully avoid getting anywhere near the trailer, so it takes us more time than usual because we have to take the long way around. Plus, I can't walk fast or overexert myself. As it is, I still have to stop every so often to recuperate and convince myself to keep trudging on. My ribs seem to hurt more and more as I do, but I hear Prim's deep, hacking cough from beside me and force myself to endure the pain. I tell myself that I just have to make it to the end. All I have to do is make it to Peeta's car, and I know things will be better.

And when I finally _do_ see Peeta standing next to his white car, I'm reminded of Prince Charming and his white stallion, come to save the day and rescue the damsel in distress. I snort at the absurdity of my thoughts, and would probably laugh outright if I knew it wouldn't send shockwaves of pain throughout my body and make me pass out from the intensity of it. While Peeta _is_ charming, I'm as far from a damsel as one can get, and this is only a temporary fix; hardly a rescue. I won't allow myself to get hopeful and delude myself into absurd fantasies of Peeta somehow making the horror go away or living happily ever after. I know I will have to come back here again, and I'll endure more pain. It's just how it is.

This won't end till I'm dead.

Which I'm becoming more and more certain will be before my eighteenth birthday. I'm not even sure if Snow knows when my birthday even _is_, but I'm sure he'll figure it out when I'm done with school. He knows I'll be able to legally leave here at my own will and he'll be afraid I'll talk. He won't ever let me leave. It's too much of a risk.

Besides, I've noticed his moods and punishments have become much more severe lately, and a lot of it is due to the behavior-changing drugs he takes. When he comes home, he's usually at the point where it's tapering off and he's going through withdrawals. I've seen him do odd things during these downward spirals, such as tearing out walls with a hammer and ax—looking for microchips, and yelling and shooting at the woods, claiming people are out there watching and listening to him.

Before I can say anything, Peeta rushes over to me.

"What happened?" he asks as he slips my arm around his shoulders, and I lean into him for leverage. He delicately places his hand on my side, right on my ribs, without knowing any better. I give a loud yelp from the sudden pain, which feels like a knife in my side, and double over with my arms enveloping my chest like a shield. "I'm sorry, Katniss! I didn't know. What happened? Can I have a look?" he asks in a rush, his voice full of worry and concern. "God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you—"

"I know." I hold up a hand for him to keep his distance for a moment, narrowing my eyes at him in irritation as a message to stop asking questions. I take a few deep, ragged breaths and grimace as I stand back up. I notice that he's looking at me with tears in his eyes, appearing both sympathetic and enraged. He shakes his head and tightens his jaw, "The stepmonster do this to you?"

I nod slowly, shrugging my shoulder as I avert my gaze to the ground. I know I probably shouldn't have told him that, but I see no other alternative. I'm tired of covering up for Snow anyway.

"Can we just go?" I ask quietly. "Please?"

He helps me over to the car, opening the doors for Prim and me before making his way over to the driver's side. Once he gets inside, I hesitate before doing the same.

"Did you bring towels?" I ask self-consciously.

"I don't care if you get my seats wet, Katniss. They'll dry," he replies dismissively.

Prim wastes no time in doing so and, with a shallow sigh, I finally do the same. When I close the door, I chew on my lip and feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. I tuck my wet hair behind my ear and wipe at my face in frustration, closing my eyes as I feel Peeta's hand reach over and cup my cheek. He runs his thumb as lightly as a feather over the bruise surrounding my eye. I have no idea how bad it looks, but I know it's feeling even more swollen, and the throbbing and aching is only intensifying by the minute. I cringe and grit my teeth as even his gentle touch sends waves of pain throughout my entire body. A tear slips from my eye again in spite of me, but he's the one to wipe it away this time.

"What the hell did he do to you guys?" he whispers angrily.

"Can we please..." I whisper, but can't find the energy to even finish the sentence.

I feel the car start to move forward in reply. The farther I get from that place, I feel my anxiety wane and also intensify. I feel relief in being away from Snow for at least the night, of not having to sleep in the woods, cold and wet and alone. But I know that getting Peeta involved in this is not good. It won't end well. I'm looking out for Prim, not wanting her to become any sicker and die. And yet, we _all_ might die just because of this decision.

I won't think about it. It'll do no good.

Maybe we'll all be better off dead, anyway.

"Prim, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Peeta asks all of a sudden, breaking the silence in the car. I glance over at him with a frown, wondering what he's about to ask. He's avoiding looking in my direction, but I'm not sure if it's because of how I appear or because he doesn't want to see my reaction to his question. "I can trust you, right?"

"Yeah?" Prim answers uncertainly.

"You're the best. I knew I could count on you to give me an honest answer. We're friends, right? So _please_ tell me why you're both all wet?" he asks in a friendly tone, almost as if he's flirting with Prim. And I _know_ she's going to fall for it. "And what happened to Katniss?"

"Prim!" I start to warn, sending an icy glare over at Peeta for being so nosy and deceptive. He still keeps his focus on the road, however, making any look I send him a pointless effort.

"Katniss!" Prim counters defiantly. "He should know! He _is_ your boyfriend…."

"I agree with her, you know," Peeta says, finally turning to me with raised eyebrows. "I _am_ your boyfriend."

"So? That doesn't mean you have to know everything about me."

"When someone is beating the hell out of my girlfriend, I _think_ I should know—"

"Snow threw the toilet bucket on us and we had to take a bath in the lake!" Prim says in a rush, interrupting our disagreement. I close my eyes and bring my hands up to cover my face in embarrassment. I don't even know _how_ to explain what a toilet bucket _is_ to Peeta, let alone why we had to bathe in the lake. If I wasn't so intent on keeping Prim alive, I'd kill her over this. "And he kicked her in the ribs and hit her with the bucket a few times, too. She passed out after he kicked her and I really thought she died."

He either came to the conclusion himself or has too much tact to ask about it, but he doesn't say anything about the lake bath or the toilet bucket. Instead, he stops the car and looks at me seriously, "Will you allow me to take you to the hospital?"

"Are you serious?" I shake my head and send him an incredulous look, "No."

"Katniss, if your ribs are broken, they could—"

"NO!" I cut him off loudly, pursing my lips and glaring as I look out my window. "I can't do that, Peeta."

"Peeta's right, Katniss."

"Shut up, Prim!" I retort, feeling annoyed and like every atom of my chest is being repeatedly stabbed by knives. "You've said enough as it is! Please stop worshipping Peeta already."

I hear Prim gasp in shock before retaliating indignantly with, "I don't _worship_ him! _I'm_ not the one who lets him feel her boobies and swaps spit with him, like _you_ do!"

I'm about to send her a scathing reply when Peeta rubs his eyes and says loudly, "Now is _not_ the time!"

"I'm still not going to the hospital," I say quietly. "I can't afford it and they'll ask too many questions. And Prim will get taken away. So will I, for that matter—"

"Okay. Fine. I don't agree, but since you're so dead-set against it, whatever," Peeta says with an annoyed sigh. "You're _not_ going back, though. Promise me?"

"I _have_ to—"

"No, you don't!"

"_Peeta._"

"Katniss."

"You don't understand," I reply, feeling desolate and defensive. "I have no other choice."

"You have _plenty_ of choices," he answers shortly. "You're just too afraid to act on them."

I say nothing else and remain silent for the rest of the car ride to Peeta's house. I don't know what these 'plenty of choices' he says I have _are_, but I'd really like to hear them. I've thought of everything. There is no way out of this that doesn't have the potential to end badly. And it makes me a little angry that he thinks it's so simple. It's not as if I _like_ getting hurt and being scared all the time. I never chose this for myself.

When we approach his house, he turns off his headlights and slows his car down to a crawl in order to not make any noise. I turn to him in question, but he just shrugs and says, "Don't want to wake anyone up."

"But we have to walk into the house—" I begin in a panic. Dealing with Mrs. Mellark is _definitely_ not something I feel I could handle at the moment.

"You forget my room is in the basement," he says, turning to me with a small smile as if trying to make peace again. I continue to scowl at him, not feeling in the least bit friendly or happy. "There's a storm door around back. It makes it easy to get in and out without anyone knowing the difference."

* * *

Once inside, Peeta tells us he'll be right back and disappears into the bathroom. Prim and I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do as our clothes drip onto the clean carpet. I notice she's staring around the room in awe of Peeta's paintings. I can't wait till she finds out he's the one who painted them. Now is not the time to talk about things like that, though. Plus I'm still a little miffed at her.

I turn my focus back onto Peeta, who just came back out of the bathroom. I can hear water running, but he doesn't say or explain anything. He goes over to his dresser and opens a few drawers, pulling out articles of clothing here and there.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously after a minute.

"Well, you can't wear those wet clothes all night. At least, it wouldn't be very comfortable," he replies quietly with a shrug as he walks over to us. "Here are some of my clothes. I know they're going to be huge on you two, especially you, Prim, but it's better than nothing. I tried to find the smallest T-shirts possible and the shorts have drawstrings, so they'll be loose, but at least they won't fall off of you."

He hands us the clothing, and Prim looks so happy she could cry.

"Thank you so much, Peeta!" I can tell she wants to hug him, but won't because she doesn't want to get him all wet.

"You're welcome, Prim. I'm running a bath for you right now, by the way. It should be done in a minute. I know you've been sick and you don't need to get any sicker. A nice warm bubble bath should make you feel a little better," he smiles at her, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. I can see the worry in them, even if he's trying to hide it in front of Prim. "You can go ahead and get in if you want. Just turn the faucet off when you think it's deep enough." She nods quickly and turns to me with eyebrows raised as if asking permission, which I think is a little ironic since she seems so keen on disregarding my opinion here lately. I purse my lips and tell her to go ahead. She wastes no time making her way to the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

Peeta comes over to me, the smile turning into a deep frown as he brings a hand to the bruise on my face and lightly traces it. It stings badly and I wince from the contact. "He's going to pay for this," he whispers angrily. "I swear to _god_, I'm going to—"

"You're not going to do _anything_," I cut him off, closing my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. It hurts too bad, though, so I quickly bring them to my sides. I look him in the eye. "Promise me. Please don't do anything stupid. Especially over me."

He swallows and glances away from me, knitting his eyebrows together in frustration. "You can't ask me to do that, Katniss. I can't let him keep doing this to you guys. He needs to be stopped. He needs to pay for what he's done."

"Peeta!" I shake my head and grab his hand, squeezing it tightly within mine. He glances down at them, and then up at me with a steely look in his eye. "Please. He'll seriously kill you. He'll kill all of us. Just leave it alone. Let it go. There's nothing you can do."

He closes his eyes and sighs loudly, "Yes, there _is_ something I can do! And I'm not afraid of the assho—"

I cut him off with a quick kiss on the mouth. I don't know what else to do. I feel panic welling up inside of me. I know Peeta is angry and feeling defensive over us, but he has no idea what Snow is capable of, or Coin and his colleagues. I don't want him to find out, either. I have to make him see reason. He kisses me in return, but when we break away from each other he takes a few steps back and shakes his head at me, "Nice try. But you haven't changed my mind. Anyway, go ahead and change into those clothes. I'm going to go upstairs to get a few things. I'll be back in a couple minutes."

I nod, frown deeply, and don't look at him. He thinks he's helping me, but he's really just adding to the mountain of stress and worries I already have. I _knew_ I shouldn't have gotten him involved in all of this. He gives me another quick peck on the lips before he disappears up the stairs.

As soon as he's gone, I slip out of my wet clothes and into his. It feels a little weird to be wearing his oversized clothing, especially since I don't have underwear or a bra on underneath since they were wet and had to be discarded as well. I feel utterly exposed, even though I'm more than fully covered. The clothes smell like Peeta, though, and it feels strangely intimate and comforting to be wearing them. I roll my eyes as I tighten the drawstring on his shorts, and remind myself that there's nothing sexual or suggestive about this. He's just helping me out. Anyway, he gave Prim his clothing too. I need to stop being so silly.

I sit on his bed and wait for him to return, wondering what Prim thinks of the first warm bubble bath in an actual bathtub that she's had in years.

* * *

When Peeta comes back down the stairs, his hands are full and there's a plastic bag hanging from his arm.

He walks over to me and sets the bag down before retrieving an orange prescription bottle. He opens it and hands me a tiny round pill. "Here. I'm not in the habit of giving pills away, but I know you're in pain and since you won't go to the doctor…." He places it in the palm of my hand and holds out a glass of water.

I look down at the pill skeptically and then back up at him, "What is it?"

"A very powerful painkiller," he answers apprehensively, meeting my eyes. "It might make you feel a little weird, but it'll take away your pain. Most of it, anyway."

I've rarely ever taken medicine and when I _have_ it was something minimal like aspirin. I'm unsure how this will affect me, but then I feel my ribs start to throb and send tremors throughout my body, so I decide to trust him. I swallow the pill, mumbling a small thank you in reply. Peeta nods and sits down next to me before gently bringing my face towards him. He frowns sadly as he takes in the damage Snow did to me and shakes his head in disgust. He turns to grab something else out of the plastic bag and starts to bring it to my face, but I back away.

"It's just an ice-pack, Katniss. You need to get the swelling down," he explains as if speaking to a child. I know he's trying to help, but it slightly annoys me. He tightens his jaw and closes his eyes as if he's losing patience. "The more I look at your face, the more pissed off I get—"

"Well, that's _nice_, Peeta!" I snap.

"I didn't mean…" He opens his eyes and lightly runs his thumb over the cheekbone on the side of my face that isn't bruised. "I meant… it pisses me off that anyone would ever want to hurt you like this. It just doesn't make any sense to me at all."

He brings the ice-pack back up to my face; I wince and bite my lip to keep from screaming as it makes contact with my skin. I feel a tear start to roll down my cheek, but before I can wipe it away, Peeta does. I cautiously open my eye—the other one is covered by the ice-pack—and he leans in to kiss my forehead and then my cheek. "You'll get through this, and you'll have one hell of a story to tell when you do," he whispers strongly.

I want to reply, but every time I open my mouth to speak, my throat seems to close off and make me want to cry. So I keep my mouth shut and try to keep from sobbing as the ice painfully numbs my face.

We're silent for a while until I start to feel light-headed and dizzy. _All_ of my skin feels numb; not just my face. I pinch myself to make sure I'm not imagining it, but I'm not. I breathe in deeply and I'm surprised to find that, while it still hurts, it's not nearly as painful as it was.

"Peeta?" I ask shakily.

"Yeah?"

"I feel… really, really weird…."

"It's nothing to worry about, just the pill kicking in," he reassures, bringing my hand up to hold the ice-pack in place. He reaches over, grabbing a folded-up blanket from a nearby chair, and drapes it around my shoulders.

"This is the one we used on our date," I remark.

"It is," he answers as he walks to his closet. He retrieves a couple more blankets and a pillow before making his way back over. He raises his eyebrows at me for a moment as if contemplating something and then shakes his head as if ridding the thought, but he doesn't say anything.

"What?" I ask curiously. "Don't act all cute and not tell me why."

"You called me cute," he says with a small chuckle. "I'd say the painkiller is definitely kicking in."

"Well, you _are_," I reply unabashedly. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

He's silent for a moment as he rubs the back of his neck and shrugs timidly, "I was just thinking… this isn't exactly how, you know, I would have imagined you'd first stay the night in my bed or wake up with my clothes on. Not that I _mind_, I'm glad you're here. It just makes me mad that it had to be like this, that _he_ made it this way."

I nod in agreement, letting his words slowly sink in, and then look at him in confusion, "How _did_ you imagine I'd first stay in your bed and wake up with your clothes on?" He sends me a pointed look, and my eyes widen as I realize his implication. "Oh…"

"Sorry, I know it's not the time for bringing up things like that," he mumbles as his sits down beside me on the bed again.

"It's fine," I answer with a shrug, feeling warm and dazed and unbothered. "I don't mind. We should have sex soon anyway, before I die."

"Katniss, you're _not_ going to die and we _definitely_ shouldn't be talking about this while you're—"

"Peeta," I interrupt all of a sudden as a thought occurs to me. I scoot over to him and lay my head on his shoulder, and his hand comes around to rest hesitantly on my arm. "I feel like a mouse."

"The painkillers _will _make you feel a bit strange…" he whispers with an amused laugh as he kisses the top of my head and starts to soothingly caress my arm.

"No. I mean, yeah. The painkiller has me feeling a little strange, but I'm not talking about that. Just... I always feel… _small_… and helpless, sneaking around to find food, trying not to be seen or heard, just trying to survive for the sake of surviving… getting caught in traps left and right. And it's like I keep getting batted around, being tortured and played with, and the only thing I can do is squeak and squirm to get away, but it only makes things worse. I just wind up getting caught by the tail or pounced on or a claw in my side. And I know, despite my efforts and my struggles to escape, it's pointless. At some point, I'll squeak one last time. My body will give in and I'll be devoured… or left, forgotten, only my bones left to tell the story of who I was, but my bones are just like everyone else's, and _no one_ will care. The world won't care at all if I'm dead. I'll just be another dead mouse in the world—"

Peeta kisses me firmly on the mouth all of a sudden, cutting me off, and I open my own against his in an attempt to deepen our kiss, but he pulls away as soon as I do. His face is red and he seems tired and determined as he asks quietly, "Am I no one to you?"

"What?"

"Am I no one to you?" he repeats, frowning. "Because you said no one would care if you were gone, and I sure as hell would." I don't say anything in reply; I only shrug and look away. "Things are tough right now, but they _will_ get better soon. _I promise_. Just let me help you." He pauses and rubs his eyes as he continues, "And you are _not_ a mouse. If anything, you're a lion. Brave, strong, and magnificent. And someday all these horrible people are going to hear your roar and fear your greatness."

"Nope," I laugh and shake my head, enjoying the way the room spins slightly as I do. "_You're_ the dandy lion, Peeta."

"And _you're_ my dandy _lioness_," he shrugs, and I see the slightest hint of a sad smile.

As if by magnetic force, I bring my lips to his again, and this time our kiss deepens. I lay back on the bed and Peeta hovers over me. He carefully avoids touching my chest or ribs, though, keeping a safe distance from my body. His tongue slides over mine, and I nibble on his bottom lip, getting lost in the powerful sensation of actually being this close to someone, of being comfortable enough to be this intimate with him.

After a few minutes, he pulls away and gazes down at me in a wistful way, and I know he's looking at my injury again. I sigh and run my hand lightly over his cheek, which he then places over his mouth to kiss, closing his eyes as he does so.

"What are we even doing?" I whisper after a second, feeling my gut fill with dread. It's moments like this with him that I know he's too good to be true. There's no way I will get away with this without paying for it in the end. Good things like this just don't happen to me. They _never_ have, and I have no reason to believe this will be any different. I feel tears stinging my eyes again so I close them. "You're wasting your time with me, Peeta. This isn't going to end well. This is suicide. For _both_ of us. There are too many things against this, against me. I don't understand why you want to be with me. In fact, I understand _completely_ if you want to break up with me—"

"Any time I spend with you _isn't_ wasted," he whispers firmly in reply. "Things might be harder for us, there will be obstacles to overcome, but we'll get through it. _Together._ You'll get through this. One day all of this bad stuff will come to an end, and it'll only be a memory. Or a scar. One day things will be wonderful for you and the only tears you cry will be happy ones. I want to be there when that time comes, possibly be the one that makes it happen if you let me. I'm not going _anywhere,_ Katniss. _Ever_." He kisses me quickly on the mouth and I can feel his warm breath against my lips, "You're kind of stuck with me."

"You always make me feel good. I love that about you. You're so sweet to me," I reply, opening my eyes again to stare into his. I look away, though, as the feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me again. "But I don't believe you. The only peace I'll find is when I'm dead. You're dating a walking corpse, Peeta. I'm basically a zombie. Which is cool if you're into _necrophilia_—"

"Will you stop talking like that? You're alive, and you're going to _keep_ living. You have so much to live _for._ You're amazing, Katniss. You're beautiful and smart and you're the strongest person I know. Don't let evil people make you think otherwise."

"Look at me," I snort in disbelief as he frowns down at me. Tears roll down the sides of my face and into my hair, but I just don't care anymore. "I don't look very beautiful or strong or smart at all. And it's not something they make me _believe_. It's something I _accept_. I _am_ going to die soon, I can feel it. I _know _it."

"No, you're _not_. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again," he tells me confidently, leaning down to leave an open-mouthed kiss on my forehead. He lingers there for a moment and mumbles against my skin, "And if _anyone_ is going to die, it's going to be _him_."


	27. Stay

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

**Stay**

"_**And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion."** _**—Khaled Hosseini**

As Peeta gazes down at me, I recognize my own anguish and uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. I reach up and cradle his cheeks with my hands, feeling guilty for placing my innermost fears upon his shoulders. He frowns and knits his brows, but says nothing as I gently start to caress his face with my fingertips. Perhaps it's the painkiller making me more sentimental than usual, but I find myself momentarily mesmerized by him. It doesn't seem like it should be real that I'm here, being this close to someone as sweet, caring, and handsome as he is. I'm usually so drawn to his brilliant blue eyes that I fail to appreciate the other small, yet lovely details about him. Now I drink him in, wondering how it is that his long blond lashes keep from getting tangled when he blinks, or how I never noticed the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Or how his soft, plump, and impossibly gentle lips—which fit so _familiarly _against my own—are such a perfect shade of dark pink.

"Katniss?" he whispers strongly. "I _promise_—"

I place a finger to his lips. I don't want him to make any more promises to me; I know they're empty words that he's only saying to make me feel better. I've accepted that this situation is far too complicated and dangerous for us to conquer. For now, I just want to _be_; I want to exist and _feel_, and be alive while I can. Dwelling on the horrible reality that I know I can't change is pointless and entertaining the idea of a happily ever after simply hurts too much. Peeta looks down at me with a mixture of sadness and longing, as if reading my mind, and I trace my fingers slowly along the outline of his frown. He then takes my hand in his and starts leaving small kisses upon my knuckles. I move my other hand to his nape to guide his face down to my own.

Peeta's lips seem to console me more than any spoken promises ever could. His kisses are gentle and_ tangible_, and I can feel the well-meaning _passion_ of promise and safety behind them. Despite all the gloom and shadows lurking outside the walls of his bedroom, being here with him like this makes everything seem like it will be okay—if only for the night. While the pain in my ribs is still prevalent, it's a throbbing sort of dull ache now. It hurts, but it's tolerable. It seems far-off and fuzzy; like it's separate from my body. I feel it, but it doesn't seem real.

At the moment, _nothing_ seems real though.

My eyes dart open in confusion as Peeta reaches down to the hem of my shirt and begins to inch it slowly upwards. I might be slightly out of it due to the pain medicine, but I know this isn't the appropriate time or place for such intimacy. Surely he's not ignorant enough to think I want to be touched after everything that's happened tonight, or with Prim right in the next room? I place my hand haltingly over his and shake my head.

"Peeta, what in the _world_ are you doing—" I start in accusatory disbelief, scowling up at him.

"I just want to see what he did to you," he explains quickly. "I won't touch you, I swear. I only want to see how bad it is."

"You already know it's really bad," I reply shortly. "You don't need to see it."

"Right. I _know_ it's bad, Katniss, but I'd still like to see to what _extent_. I want to help you, but I need to know what we're dealing with," Peeta insists. He leans down to kiss me again and whispers softly against my lips, "Please? Trust me? I _know_ it hurts and I promise I'll _only_ look. I won't touch at all."

I roll my eyes, feeling self-conscious and irritable, but I can tell from his concerned tone that he's not about to give up easily. I shrug and grudgingly relinquish my grip on his hand, "Fine. There's nothing you can really _do_ about it, but go ahead and look if it means so much to you."

"Thank you," he replies with a final kiss to my forehead before leaning up again. I bite my lip and look away as Peeta lifts my shirt and bunches it up beneath my breasts. He takes in a deep breath and exhales loudly, "_That no-good son of a_—"

"Peeta!" I cut him off disapprovingly. "Don't be so vulgar. Prim would have a heart attack if she heard you talk like that. Besides, it's not like it's the first time I've ever been hurt like this. I'll live."

"That doesn't make it any _better_!" he counters heatedly. "No _man_ should _ever_ hurt a woman like this! _Ever_. It makes me sick. And yeah, you'll live through _this_, Katniss, but what about _next_ time? Please… just _don't_ go back. Stay with me. You _and_ Prim—"

"I can't. You _know_ I can't. Anyway, what about my mom?" I ask with an exasperated sigh. "If I leave her there alone, she'll die. And even if Snow _doesn't_ kill us, which I doubt, Coin will find something to charge you with. There are walls everywhere and they just keep closing in. There's no way out. Trust me, if there _was_, I would have left a long time ago. It's not like I _enjoy_ being hurt or fearing for our lives. I think about escaping constantly, but it's no use. I just end up with headaches."

"That's what they _want_ you to think— that it's no use! They want to keep you fearful so you'll stay quiet and be afraid of leaving," he says. "_I'm _not scared of either of them, though. Let Coin charge me with something stupid—like I give a damn! I've got dirt on him and I can easily turn the tables if he wants to play that game. And the stepmonster? Let him bring it. If I die trying to keep you guys safe, it's worth it."

"You make it sound so simple," I say, my hands start to tremble from nerves as I anxiously rub my eyes. "It's _no_t, okay? You have _no idea_ what you'd be up against or what you're asking me to do. One bad choice on my part and we all die in horrific, drawn-out ways. I know you feel protective right now, but _please_ think rationally. You had a great life before _I_ came into it, and I'd never forgive myself if—"

"No," Peeta cuts me off indignantly. "My life was not _great_ before you were in it, Katniss! I never knew what great _was_ before you came along. I was living, but I wasn't _alive… _not like I am with you. I'd rather risk death for a life with you in it, because if something happened to you—if you or your sister died and I could have prevented it—I sure as hell couldn't live with myself."

"Regardless, I still have my mom to think about," I mumble, not knowing what to think of the things he's saying or the implication of it all. I know what he means about being alive, yet not really _living_ until someone special came along to give it meaning—because it's the same exact way about him. Sure, I have Prim; she's my sole purpose for living, but that's a given. I love her more than life itself. But with Peeta, I'm awakened. For the first time in a long time, he's made me happy to be alive. It scares and excites me, and I know I should push him away to save him, but for selfish reasons… I _can't_.

"Does she think about _you_?" Peeta asks pointedly. "I know it's cruel to say, but she's a grown woman. She chose to marry the man that beats you and your sister. It shouldn't be your burden to pay for her bad decisions. It doesn't look like she does a whole lot of caring for _you_."

"She _can't_, Peeta! She's sick. She doesn't know any better! Snow has her brains scrambled."

"From what my dad says, your mom _used_ to be quick-witted, smart, and beautiful," Peeta whispers with a wistful shake of his head. "If he's done this to _her_, it's only a matter of time before it happens to you or Prim. Again, she made her decision. It isn't selfish of you to—"

I bring my arms over my face. "Can we not talk about all this tonight? I just… I just want to forget it all for a while. I don't want to think about it."

"Fine," he concedes. "But we really _have_ to talk about this eventually. I'm serious. We have to make some sort of plan. We can't keep ignoring this, hoping it'll get better, because obviously it's not going to. I can't just stand by and watch you die slowly in front of me. I've been doing it for _years_ and I can't do it anymore. You said it yourself, you think he's going to kill you or Prim; at the very least he'll leave you with permanent damage, if he hasn't already."

"He'll only kill us if we say anything to anyone," I whisper defensively, "or if anyone _tells."_

He laughs cynically, "Isn't that like the number one thing abusers tell their victims? Looks to me like he's going to be the cause of your death _regardless_ of who you tell. And what about Prim? She has, _what_, six… seven more years to deal with the guy? You really think she's going to make it? Think long and hard about it. Not about what might happen tomorrow or next week, but a year from now or five. Do you think you two will survive that long? You need to get away _now_, Katniss. Not _soon_. Not _later_. _Now_. Please… just _trust me_. I'll help you. I'll be there for you every step of the way. Just _please_—"

"Aren't _you_ still living in the same house as the woman who tried to kill you?" I retort. "I'd think _you,_ of all people, would know it's not so simple."

"It's _not_ simple," he agrees quickly. "I know that. But my situation is a lot different than yours. I was young at the time. I had no one to help me and I really didn't think anyone would believe me. I couldn't prove anything, and even if I tried, I knew my mom's family would pay for the best defense lawyers in the country. The only people who would have been hurt and would have lost everything would have been my dad and me."

"It _isn't_ that different, actually. Your mom's family might be rich, but Snow has the whole police department on his side. If I leave, I'll just be brought right back and punished, possibly killed. Or worse, Prim will be. I don't really care if_ I_ die, but I _can't_ put Prim's life on the line like that."

"So you won't _risk_ her life to _save_ it? Wouldn't it be better to try to save her rather than just do nothing and hope she doesn't die?"

"You see _this_?" I point to my face and then to the cut on my neck, "And _this_?" I gesture to my ribs. "These were only _warnings_. Warnings to keep my mouth shut or we'll be killed. You really think he's joking around, Peeta? Because I sure as hell don't. You don't _know_ the man. You have no idea what he's capable of. He's killed before, or at least he's said he has, and I don't doubt that one bit. He has no conscience. He's a psychopathic sociopath with a love for hard drugs and the power of corrupt cops protecting him. I know too much and it makes him paranoid. The fact that we're even still breathing is amazing in itself, and I'm not really feeling the need to push my luck by testing him."

"You're not really changing my mind, Katniss. In fact, you're only making it more apparent that you need to get the hell away from there—and _quickly_," Peeta replies in a tense voice. He keeps clenching his jaw and I notice his hand trembling as he runs it through his hair. He closes his eyes to calm down before whispering strongly, "You have help if you're willing to accept it. I promise I'll be there for you and help in any way I can. I think you should tell someone higher up than the local authorities. Take a stand. Put these people behind bars where they belong. Let them know they can't hurt you anymore, that it's wrong. You'd have no problem proving everything. Take pictures. You have the _proof _of his abuse on every inch of your body—"

"Care to insult me some more, Peeta? Thanks for judging me. Really, if my body is _so_ _disgusting_ to you then—" I hastily start to pull my shirt down, but he places his hand gently over mine and shakes his head.

"I'm _not_ insulting you," he interrupts with an exasperated sigh. "And I don't find _you_ disgusting at all. I find the hell you've had to endure _very _disgusting, though. You're beautiful and I adore everything about you, but I'm not going to ignore or pretend to _like_ the damage he's done to you. You deserve _so much better_. I want to see you healthy and fully alive and proud of your body, not trying to hide it. And what about Prim? Do you want her to be the same way when she gets older? So ashamed of things she has no control over that she has a hard time believing anyone would ever _like_ her, let alone _love_ her?"

"Prim is very different than me."

"Prim _isn't_ very different than you at all, Katniss. In fact, she reminds me very much of how you were at her age. You've just been forced to grow up far too quickly. Life has made you jaded and guarded, and it's only a matter of time before the same thing happens to her… if it's not already too late. The poor girl gets _so_ excited over the tiniest bit of kindness shown to her. Most kids her age wouldn't think twice about devouring a cake or taking a bubble bath." He locks his eyes pointedly onto mine. "You're the _same_ way—so surprised and grateful at any sort of niceness shown to you. It's sad to me that you've come to expect the worst out of people more than the good. It _shouldn't_ be that way. It breaks my heart."

"Well, it doesn't exactly warm mine," I mumble and narrow my eyes at the ceiling. I don't really know how to reply. I know what he's saying is true, but it's not something I can control. I can't stop people from being cruel or mean. Expecting them to be nice would be naïve and I'd only set myself up to be let down. "I'm done talking about this. There's nothing I can do about it tonight anyway. Can I put my shirt down now?"

He shoots me a pained look, "You're bruised and swollen pretty bad. I can't tell if anything's broken, but I wouldn't doubt it. You're probably going to hate me for even suggesting it, but you really need to let me put the ice-pack on your ribs for a little bit. It's obviously going to hurt like hell at first, but you need to get the swelling down."

I shake my head and look at him with wide eyes, "You _promised_ you wouldn't touch."

"I know I did," he admits. "But you wouldn't have let me see it otherwise. Please, let me get the swelling down? It'll only hurt at first until it numbs, but if it gets _too _swollen I'm worried it might—"

"Fine!" I blurt, thoroughly agitated. "Shut up and get it over with then!" He doesn't say anything, but grabs a pillow and hands it to me. I frown and arch an eyebrow at him. "What's this for?"

"Like I said, it's probably going to hurt like hell at first. That'll muffle the sound if you need to scream or anything. I'd rather you not wake anyone upstairs," he explains. His jaw clenches and his eyes harden as he looks down at my ribs again. "Believe me, Katniss, I _hate_ having to do this. The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

"I know," I reply in a resigned tone before placing the pillow over my face. I gesture for him to get it over with and he wastes no time in dragging things out.

It was a lucky thing he had the foresight of giving me the pillow to scream into—because that's _exactly_ what I do as soon as the wet, freezing ice-pack makes excruciating contact with my ribs. I squirm at first and try to remove his hand from me, but he doesn't budge, so I tense up and bite my lip to keep more screams from pouring forth. Whimpers escape me without volition and tears well up in my eyes, but both are soaked up by the fabric of the pillow. I know what Peeta is doing is necessary, though, and I feel so pitiful and weak for letting the pain overwhelm me.

After a few minutes, the pain starts to subside and be replaced by a cold, tingling sensation. My breathing and heartbeat come back to normal, and I don't have the need to scream or whimper anymore. I finally take the pillow off my face and glance wearily at Peeta. My breath catches in my chest and a pang of both guilt and sorrow shoots through my body as I see tears running down his face. All my pain is temporarily forgotten as I have the sudden urge to comfort him instead.

I lick my dried lips and take a deep, shaky breath before whispering hoarsely, "It's okay, Peeta. I'll be okay. Thank you."

He quickly wipes the tears away, as if not wanting me to see, and silently shakes his head as if disgusted with the whole situation. I don't know what to say so I simply place my hand over his as a show of gratitude. Regardless of whether or not I agree with him about taking the initiative to leave Snow, I don't want him to doubt how appreciative I am that he never, not even for a second, hesitated to help me tonight. I _want_ to believe he could help on a grander scale, but there's a gigantic difference between giving me a pain pill and letting me sleep in his bed, and protecting me from an abusive psychopath and his gang of corrupt police officers. I whisper another heartfelt 'thank you' which he answers by leaning over to kiss my forehead.

"Katniss? I heard you scream, are you all right?" I hear Prim's frantic voice call out as soon as the bathroom door swings open. Peeta immediately sits back up and, with a grunt and a grimace, so do I.

"Yeah," I answer quickly, waving a hand dismissively. "Peeta just had to put ice on my ribs and it hurt really bad at first. I'm a little better now, though."

I shake my head as she approaches, finding myself amused at how silly she looks in Peeta's clothes. To say they're huge on her tiny frame would be a major understatement. His T-shirt hangs down past her knees, the sleeves almost reach her wrists, and his shorts stop right above her ankles. I bite my lip to keep from smiling or laughing, but a small snort escapes me anyway. I cover it up with a fake cough and look away. She's self-conscious enough and I don't want to make her feel bad, especially since Peeta's clothes are the only things she has to wear right now.

"Good. I was scared that maybe Snow…." She trails off, but she doesn't need to finish her sentence for me to know exactly what she had been afraid of. Instead she sends a timid, self-conscious smile to Peeta. "Thanks for the bubble bath, Peeta. And for helping Katniss feel better." Prim raises a triumphant eyebrow at me, "And I'm glad you _let_ him. I _told_ you he'd help if you asked."

"I _also_ told her I would," Peeta adds. "She's a bit headstrong about it, though. Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Prim. I appreciate it. At least I know _one_ Everdeen trusts me."

Prim nods, looking far too pleased with herself over Peeta's praise, and I'm a little indignant at the both of them. I'm done with arguing the point, though. I shyly ask to use the bathroom and Peeta tells me of course in an amused tone, as if my question was silly. As I walk away and shut the door, I can hear them talking to each other, but I don't pay attention to what they're saying. It's probably for the best anyway, since they've obviously taken to conspiring against me here lately.

I purposefully avoid the mirror at first, trying to muster up the daring to look at my injuries. I know they must be pretty bad for Peeta to have reacted as protectively as he had. When I finally find the gumption, I release a slow breath and open my eyes to observe my reflection. I stand in shock for a moment as I stare at myself. The girl staring back looks _nothing_ like me at all. I've been bruised and battered by Snow before, but not as horrible as this. He usually avoids my face, at least when school is in session. I bring a hand to my eye and wince as I barely touch the deep purple and red bruise that surrounds it. My entire face is swollen, but mostly around my left eye. I'm surprised I can even see out of it at all as it'll barely open a crack and the white around the iris is completely red. My hair falls past my waist in wet, tangled clumps, making me look even more pitiful than I otherwise would have. I'm immediately embarrassed that I've let Peeta see my like this. I don't understand how he could even stomach kissing me. I look dreadful.

I finally avert my eyes downward, unable to look at my face anymore.

With a ragged breath, I lift my shirt to assess the damage Snow had done to my ribs. I knew it was bad, but seeing _how_ bad is another thing entirely. One whole side is deeply bruised and swollen to over twice its normal size. I close my eyes tightly and let my shirt fall as I turn away from the mirror. I don't want to see any part of myself again tonight. I've seen more than enough already. I angrily wipe at the tears threatening to fall and lean against the sink for a few minutes, gulping in deep breaths and holding them to regain my composure before I have to walk back out to Peeta and Prim.

* * *

It's late and though sleeping is the farthest thing from my mind, Peeta insists we all try to. He asks my permission to give Prim some nighttime cough syrup and I let him, thankful that he has some sort of medicine to help her since I didn't bring any with me. It takes no time at all for it to kick in and for Prim to fall into a deep sleep. I lie with my eyes closed between the both of them, unable to rest as a million worries plague my mind. I don't know how long I lie there lost in my own thoughts, but I eventually open my eyes again and stare at the ceiling.

Peeta startles me when he silently sweeps a stray tendril of hair off my forehead and brushes my cheek lightly with the back of his hand. I turn my head in his direction and frown as I see him gazing at me with concern.

"How are you feeling?" he whispers.

"Like hell," I answer honestly. The pain is getting worse or the medicine is starting to wear off, either way, my ribs are back to feeling like millions of tiny knives are digging into them repeatedly. I can still breathe all right, but it hurts to move my body even slightly. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

"Thinking too much," he replies with a shrug. "Besides, I'm afraid I'll have night terrors and scare Prim."

"I don't think you need to worry about scaring Prim. You could sprout horns, fangs, and scales and she would still think you're a saint," I tease and roll my eyes good naturedly. "I've never seen her think so highly of someone before. I'm pretty sure she's in love with you."

"Well, I think she's a sweetheart and I adore her, too." Peeta grins bashfully at me and gently brushes his fingertips against my cheek. He hesitates before saying something else, but falls silent and licks his lips a bit nervously as he looks away from me. A few seconds later, however, he glances back and locks his eyes onto mine with a daring sort of determination. There's such intensity in his gaze, it makes my stomach do a flip, but I'm so curious as to what he's thinking that I can't avert my eyes from his. He whispers shyly yet confidently, "I'm very much in love with a _different _Everdeen, though."

I snort and give him an incredulous look, "Okay, Peeta_. Right_."

"I'm _not _joking, Katniss," he insists, and from the seriousness of his face and voice, I know he's telling the truth. Or what he _believes_ is the truth. Of course I don't think for one minute that he's actually in love with me—maybe the _idea_ of me, but not _me._ He remembers me as someone I was before; someone who I'll never be again. He remembers a little girl who gave him courage and kisses and kindness. Now I barely have enough courage to save me or my sister, and the comforts of kisses and kindness are weaknesses that could wind up getting all of us killed. Anyway, how can anyone _else_ love me when I'm not even sure I love myself? "I love you. I know you probably don't believe me, but I _do_. I love you."

I scowl at him and roll my eyes, waiting for him to laugh and say he really _is_ only joking. I open my mouth to retort, but nothing will come out. My heart starts to beat rapidly against my chest as I begin to panic. He keeps eye contact with me, though, almost challengingly so, and I finally turn my head and stare at the ceiling again. My voice comes out shakily when I speak again, "You're obviously delirious. Let's get some sleep. It's late and we have school in the morning."

"_I _have school in the morning," he replies strongly. "_You_, however, you're going to stay right here in this bed all day tomorrow. You're not going to work, either. I won't let you. You're in no shape to be exerting yourself, Katniss. Prim should stay with you. She's sick and needs rest, and I saw the bruises on her neck and arm, too. I think it'd do you both some good just to take it easy after what happened tonight. It's Friday, so it'll only be one day. No one will bother you down here. I padlock the basement door from the inside and you can lock the storm door after I leave. You'll be safe."

"You're being a little bossy," I mutter as I close my eyes. "I'm not sure I like it."

"I'm not being _bossy_, Katniss. It's called being concerned about you."

I'm silent for a moment as I think things over. I want to argue the point since I don't like being told what to do, but I know he's right. There's no way I'll be able to make it through the day tomorrow, at school _or_ at work. I definitely don't want to be at Snow's mercy either, because it's obvious he doesn't have any. I have no other option but to stay here until I'm well enough to deal with everything. I heave a sigh and whisper, "Fine."

"You'll stay?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Thank you." My eyes dart open as he kisses me on the cheek and whispers in my ear, "And I'm _not_ delirious, by the way. _I love you_, Katniss Everdeen. I love you, I love you, _I love you_, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"You're only saying that because I'm hurt and you want to make me feel better. I don't need your pity, Peeta, and you certainly don't _love_ me," I retort indignantly, closing my eyes again so I don't have to see him looking at me. However, I can still _feel_ his eyes staring a hole through me.

"_Please_ don't tell me what I feel. I _do_ love you—very much, in fact, and I have for a while now. I never said anything before because I didn't want to scare you and I knew you wouldn't believe it anyway. I didn't want you to feel obligated to say it back. I still _don't_, by the way. I don't expect you to say it back, and I don't want you to ever say it unless you mean it. But _I_ want _you_ to know that you're loved—_very loved_—and I'd do anything for you. _Anything_," he whispers fervidly, caressing my cheek again with his fingertips. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes tighter as he turns my head in his direction. "I'm telling you all this now because I realized earlier that I could have lost you tonight. In one instant, I would have never been able to see or speak to you again. So, as sudden or soon as it may be, I don't care. I'm going to tell you how I feel from now on because life is too short and precious not to." I slowly open my eyes to look at him again and he sends me a tense smile which I don't return. "So get used to hearing it, Katniss. _I love you_."

"I just don't think you know me well enough to say that." I shrug indifferently and look away from him again.

"I know you well enough to know how I feel about you," he counters. "And the more I get to know about you, it only makes what I feel for you even stronger. You're like… like the layers of a cake—"

"_Seriously_, Peeta?" I glance over at him with amused disbelief.

"Let me finish?" he replies in a rush, looking a little timid but determined all the same. "You're like the layers of a cake. Each layer adds to the overall deliciousness of the entire thing. Say, you're a triple layer chocolate cream cake. I know just from looking at you that you're going to be amazing and sweet and tasty, right? I don't even have to try the other cakes to know you're going to be my favorite—"

"Peeta," I snort, but he cuts me off. I roll my eyes and bite my lip to keep from laughing at his ridiculous analogy.

"Anyway, you have three layers of cake and cream in between the layers—the top layer of cake is like your resilience, the middle is your overall personality, and the bottom is your bravery. The cream in between is the little stuff I notice about you, the glue that holds everything together—your loyalty to your sister and mom, your intelligence and humor, your kindness and humility, your many talents," he leans in and whispers into my ear so Prim can't possibly hear, "your incredible sexiness that I've been lucky enough to catch a few glimpses of and hope to see a whole lot more of in the future."

"Are you finished yet?"

"No," he smiles, "I could go on all night, but we don't make cakes with as many layers. Anyway, the things I find out about you along the way—things you like and dislike, your hobbies and dreams and hopes and fears… those are like the many sprinkles on top of the cake. You can take them away and the cake would still be amazing, but the more you add, the better it becomes."

"I'm like chocolate cake?" I arch an eyebrow at him and shake my head. "I'm more like a mud pie, but thanks for being sweet. You'd definitely be a blackberry tart."

He chuckles and leans in close to my ear again, "Does that mean you can't get enough of me? Because if the passionate way you licked the crème off that spoon is any _indication_ of—"

"You need to stop," I cut him off by quickly placing a hand over his mouth, my face heating up at his suggestive tone. "Prim is _right_ _next_ to me, Peeta."

"And where's _your _mind at, Katniss?" he teases with a wink, which only earns him a glare. He kisses my cheek and scoots closer to me before gently resting his head on my shoulder. I debate shrugging him away, but it's comforting with him there. He finds my hand under the cover and weaves our fingers together. "Since we both can't sleep, tell me something that makes you happy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are some of your favorite things to do?" he whispers curiously. "What are your hobbies, what makes you happy? I want to know as much about you as I can."

"I don't know," I shrug and try to remember the last time I ever did something simply for the fun of it. "I guess I enjoy fishing. It's always a thrill when you catch a big one."

"I imagine it would be," he replies thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to go fishing. Maybe you can teach me how sometime?"

"What?" I ask in stunned disbelief. "You've _never _been fishing before?"

"Nope."

"_Ever_? Seriously?"

"Never ever. Not even once. Dad's always been too busy with the bakery to take me. He's never really been much of an outdoorsman anyway. Mom… well, I think she'd go into cardiac arrest if she got dirt underneath her fingernails. I guess the opportunity never really presented itself."

I'm silent for a moment as I don't really know what to say. I can't help feeling a little sorry for him. I always thought fishing was such an easy, common thing that everyone did it. Then again, I remind myself, Peeta grew up in a completely different world than me. He was raised with money and more than enough to eat—he's never had to worry about _catching_ his meals. Besides, I'm sure he enjoys doing _a lot_ of things that I've never even thought about. Maybe _I'm_ the sad one for thinking that catching fish is a fun activity.

"We'll have to change that, won't we?" I finally say. "It doesn't really require any skill, only patience. I find it peaceful, though. I'll have to show you how sometime. Well, as soon as I get a new pole."

"What's wrong with the pole you have now?"

"I don't _have_ a pole right now. I use a stick with yarn tied to it, though. It gets the job done. It's just more of a hassle," I answer before adding bitterly, "The pole I _used_ to have was stolen by a stupid snake."

He laughs and props himself up on an elbow to look down at me, "Okay, you can't just say something like that and not explain. How in the world did a _snake_ steal your fishing pole, Katniss?"

I roll my eyes and smile at the absurdity of the memory. It used to make me sad and angry when I thought about it, but now that I'm older I've grown to find the humor in it. I give a self-conscious shrug and try to focus on the paintings hanging on the wall in order to avoid his curious eyes.

"I thought I was reeling in a huge fish because it was fighting an awful lot. It was almost dark out, so I didn't see until it was a few feet away that it _wasn't_ a fish, but a _very_ angry looking snake. So naturally, like the logical thirteen-year-old I was, I threw the fishing pole into the lake and ran home as fast I could."

"I probably would have done the same," Peeta states, reaching out and tucking a tendril of hair behind my ear. "I mean, you didn't know if it was poisonous or not. And you can always get a new pole, but not a new _you_—" I shake my head, cutting him off.

"It wasn't just _any_ old fishing pole, though. It was my dad's, and it was_ also_ the one he taught me to fish with. It was one of the only things I had left to remember him by since Snow sold almost every other thing he had. I felt so stupid for throwing it into the lake. I should have just cut the line, but I hate snakes and… I panicked. The next day I went back, hoping I'd find it somewhere, but I didn't. I never did, either."

I glance at Peeta and notice that there isn't a trace of amusement left on his face. With a sympathetic frown, he leans over and kisses my cheek, "I'm really sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories. If it's any consolation, I hope that stupid snake choked on the hook."

"It's fine," I reply dismissively, sending him a half-hearted smile for being so sweet. "It was a really long time ago. I was upset at first, but I started cheering myself up by envisioning a snake dragging my pole behind it, saying, 'I'm gonna catch me a _fish_!' And no matter how sad I was, that always seemed to make me smile. Gotta find the silver lining sometimes, right?"

Peeta starts laughing and, as if it was contagious, I begin laughing too. I cringe and stop almost instantly, however, when my ribs start throbbing with pain so intense it temporarily steals my breath away—as if reminding me that now isn't the time or place to be happy or laughing. I'd been so distracted by talking to Peeta that I'd nearly forgotten about my injuries. We fall into a somber sort of silence for a moment as we're reminded of our present situation.

For the rest of the night, however, we continue whispering to each other about everything and nothing at all. Peeta cuddles closer to my side, giving me plentiful kisses and comforting, flirtatious caresses beneath the covers. Of course, every touch is chaste and gentle due to the severity of my pain and Prim being fast asleep right beside me. Mostly it's just holding my hand, light brushes against my arm, his thigh playfully bumping into mine, or his foot trying to tickle the soles of my own. I lightly poke him in the side to get him to stop so he doesn't wake Prim, but I know he means well and his antics are a way of trying to get my mind off of the discomfort.

I remind Peeta many times that he has work and school the next morning, knowing he's going to be extremely tired the next day, but he insists he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway and he'd much rather talk to me. Selfishly, I'm glad for it. After all, I know if he falls asleep, I'll be left alone to dwell on the pain and dread I'm trying to keep at bay. He tries to bring up the topic of staying with him again, claiming that he'd treat me well and keep me safe, and even adds that he'd make my choice of butterfly cupcakes or blackberry tarts, or both, anytime I ever wanted them. I reply by telling him I don't want to talk about it tonight, and he dolefully accepts my answer and changes the topic to something more lighthearted.

Each time that Peeta insists that I let him help me, that I leave Snow and stay with him and basically throw caution to the wind, my heart breaks a little bit more. It isn't that I don't _want_ to. I'd honestly want nothing more than to take him up on his offer. I have no doubts at all that he'd never hurt me and that he'd make me happy; he _already _makes me happier than I have been in years. I know it'd be selfish, though, and way too risky. We might be safe and happy for a little while, but it'd never last. It's too complicated. If it was only us, it'd be okay… but we're up against everyone else, it seems. I don't want to be the one who gets everyone killed. And like Gale had said, being with Peeta isn't worth putting Prim's life in danger.

* * *

Before we know it, it's already morning. Peeta gets out of bed and starts preparing to leave for school, and though I know it's necessary, I find that I really don't feel comfortable staying in his bedroom without him here. I half-heartedly ask him to stay with me, but he says he can't—that it'd be way too suspicious if we both didn't go to school and that he definitely couldn't get out of going to work. I understand what he's saying, but I still feel nervous and out of place when he kisses me, tells me he loves me with a sleepy grin (which I only shake my head at), and finally leaves. I lock the storm door after him and practically run back to the bed to hide myself under his blankets. I find that it already seems ghostly and cold without his warmth beside me, but I lay my head on his pillow and bring the sides of it up to my face, inhaling his scent, which is just as earthy and sweet as he is.

"You guys are so cute together," Prim croaks with a sleepy, impish grin on her face as she opens her eyes and peeks over at me. I immediately bring my hands down to my sides and pretend that I wasn't smelling Peeta's pillow like an idiot. I start to panic slightly as I wonder how long Prim had been awake, pretending to be asleep. She sits up in an instant, asking excitedly, "Did I hear him right? Did Peeta say he _loves _you?"

"Oh god," I groan and place my hands over my eyes. "Go back to sleep, Prim."

"He _did_!" she squeals. "You were rude, though. You should have said it back, Katniss."

"He really doesn't, though. He's saying it because he feels sorry for me," I reply dismissively. "And _I_ don't say things I don't mean. He's nice and I _do_ like him, I just…" I shrug and heave a sigh. "Anyway, I'm tired and I'm going to sleep now."

"Yeah, I know _why_ you're sleepy," she claims in a knowing tone. I lower my hand and narrow my eyes at her. "All that flirting with Peeta last night. You woke me up playing footsies, you know."

"I wasn't _playing—" _ I start defensively, my cheeks heating up. Prim starts laughing and nods. "I was _not_. Shut up!"

"Even if you _did_ love him, you'd never admit it," she shrugs. "I think you do, though. You act all sorts of different when he's around. You get all girly and you look at him all…" She dramatically places her hands on her heart and flutters her eyelashes.

"Whatever, Prim. I do _not_," I snort.

"Do too," she insists.

"Nope."

"Yep."

"I should have had you go to school," I mumble. "You should be nicer to me. I'm in pain."

She frowns and her eyes widen as if suddenly remembering.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "How is it?"

"Like a truck ran over me." I close my eyes again and shrug. "I'll be okay, though. Peeta gave me another painkiller before he left this morning."

"That's good. I hope you feel better soon, sis," she replies as she moves closer to me. She rests her head gently against my arm, which I bring around her shoulders. "So are we staying here for the day?"

I nod. "Yeah. Maybe tomorrow, too. Just until I feel good enough to go back home. I'll tell Snow we were at Gale's or something."

Prim is silent for a moment, but I can tell something's bothering her. She finally blurts, "Why are we staying here only long enough for you to get better? You know as soon as we go home that we're just going to get hurt again!"

"You know _exactly _why, Prim," I answer, annoyed that I have to keep explaining. "Do I need to find a mirror to show you your neck to _remind_ you why? It's not like I _want _to go back, but an injury is preferable to death. You know what we're up against. Stop making me into the bad guy."

"I'm not! I know all that," she replies quickly. "But I think Snow is just trying to scare us. I don't think he'd stand up to Peeta or Mr. Mellark."

"Oh, and why not?" I ask monotonously. "Because they're _good people_? Give me a break."

"No," Prim continues unperturbed. "Because Snow is a huge coward. He only beats up on women and little girls when no one is around. Look how he is when Gale comes over… he acts all nice and spineless until he leaves. And Snow _knows_ that Gale knows what he does to us."

"So? Gale's different. Snow's known him and his family since Gale was a kid. He knows he won't do or say anything."

"I think he's more afraid that Gale will beat him up."

"That too," I agree.

"So you don't think he'd react the same way if Peeta and Mr. Mellark confronted him?"

"Oh, he'll act nice to their faces and seem okay with everything. But he'll find a way to get even. He'll go to Coin and they'll both wind up paying for it. Or Snow will find us alone sometime when we least expect it and get rid of us. Or, worse yet, he'll find Peeta or Mr. Mellark alone and…" I heave a frustrated sigh. "Prim, it's complicated. And I don't think Snow's going to be too intimidated by a middle-aged baker or a seventeen-year-old boy with a missing leg."

"Peeta's missing a leg?" Prim asks in surprise, promptly sitting up to look at me with alarmed eyes.

I raise my eyebrows at her, "Yeah, I thought you knew. That's why he walks with a limp sometimes."

"I noticed, but…" Prim frowns and looks thoughtful for a moment. "I didn't know all that. Poor Peeta! How did it happen?"

"It's a long story," I reply with a flip of my wrist. "There was an… accident when he was younger." I feel sick to my stomach saying 'accident' because it was anything but that. I doubt Peeta would want me to tell Prim the real story, though.

"But… why didn't he take his fake leg off last night?" Prim reflects curiously. "It couldn't have been very comfortable to sleep with."

I'm silent for a moment, unsure of how to answer. I never thought about it until now, but she's right—he _didn't_ take his prosthetic off at all last night. I'm suddenly both indignant and sorry for him. Did he think we would have judged him? Maybe he didn't want Prim to see or he didn't want to make us uncomfortable. He's wrong, though, if any of those were his reasons. I know that it can't possibly be the norm for him to sleep with it on, and maybe that's part of the reason why he stayed up all of last night.

I make a mental note to ask him about it when he comes home.

Before Peeta had left in the morning, he told me how to use the DVD player and the television with the remote. He smiled when he told me I'd probably want Prim to watch what's in the DVD player, and I have a pretty good guess of what's still in it.

When I turn it on and the sepia picture comes into view, I can't help the warmth that spreads throughout my body. I smile and shake my head as Prim excitedly lies down at the end of the bed, head propped up on her hands to watch the movie. She seems utterly entranced by it. It's been years since we've ever watched TV, and I know she's never seen The Wizard of Oz— at least when she was old enough to _remember_ it. I'd watched it with my dad when she was a toddler, but she obviously never really paid attention to it then.

I watch it about halfway through before my eyelids start to get heavy and I can barely keep my eyes from closing. I tell Prim that I'm going to take a nap, but she only waves back at me to be quiet and turns back to the movie.

* * *

I'm standing on a small island in the middle of a lake.

Only the lake isn't full of water, but of poisonous snakes—hissing, slithering, writhing, and striking. Millions upon millions of them, and they seem to multiply by the second. The depth is increasing; the hissing is becoming louder. I watch in horror and helplessness as the land around me gets smaller and smaller, becoming invaded by the angry reptiles.

I turn around to see my mother, pale and decrepit, standing with me. An eerie, tight smile graces her face that doesn't quite meet her hollow eyes. I then look down to find two sets of chains locked onto my feet, leading in opposite directions. My eyes follow the line to where each ends—they both stretch a path over rickety wooden bridges to land on either side. The ends of the chains are wrapped liked nooses around the necks of Prim and Peeta who are also restrained and bound at the hands and feet by rope. I see them both yelling things at me, but I can't hear over the loud hissing of the snakes.

I know I have to make a decision to save one of them. Whoever I choose, the other one will die. The chain will pull on their neck and kill them. I have to make a decision quick, though, because I'm running out of time and room as the snakes move in closer and closer. I panic. I can't breathe. I turn to Mom for an answer; I ask her what I should do, but she only gives me a vacant smile and says, "We're all going to die here, Kitty-Kat."

And then I scream as the snakes close in on her feet. As if their bites are made of acid, her body gruesomely melts into them, flesh falling like liquid from her bones, which eventually melt as well before she disappears completely.

I glance desperately at Prim and then to Peeta, and then down at my feet; the snakes are mere inches away from me now.

I have to save one or the other.

_I have to save Prim. _

I have no other choice.

"I'm sorry, Peeta! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_!" I yell repeatedly, tears streaming down my face as I make my way to my sister.

I look back to see him being yanked by the neck into the lake of snakes.

And it's _entirely_ my fault….

"KATNISS!"

My eyes dart open to see Prim looking down at me in a panic, her hands on either side of my shoulders as if she had been shaking me. Once she notices that I'm awake, she immediately leans down and gives me a light hug, making sure not get near my ribs. I hesitantly bring a hand to her back to console her. I feel something wet on my face and wipe at it, and I'm surprised and confused when I find the wetness is from tears. I'd evidently been crying in my sleep. "You were having _such_ a horrible nightmare! You were crying and screaming and thrashing about…." Prim mumbles into my neck.

"I'm okay now," I reply, but I'm still trembling all over and a little shell-shocked. I've had nightmares before, but never so bad that I'd woken up in tears. "Probably just a side-effect of the pain pill. It's all right. Sorry for worrying you. Go back to watching the movie."

"The movie's over," she whispers as she continues to hug me. Finally she pulls away from me and frowns, "I wish Snow would melt like the Wicked Witch of the West."

"Me too," I agree. "Maybe we should throw some water on him and see what happens."

"Probably not a good idea," Prim replies a little too seriously, which in turn makes me smile.

"Did you know me and Peeta were in a play for The Wizard of Oz?" I ask in an attempt to lighten the mood and distract both of us from the nightmare I'd had. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. "Yep. In the third grade. I was Dorothy and he was the Cowardly Lion."

"Awww! I bet you guys were cute! I wish I could have seen it." Prim grins and then looks contemplative. "I think I remember you singing some of those songs, come to think of it. It was a long time ago, but I remember thinking you were wonderful. Why _don't_ you ever sing anymore?"

"I don't have a reason to."

She looks at me as if I'm silly, "You don't need a _reason_ to sing, Katniss."

"I just think it's pointless," I answer and change the subject. "Hey, Prim? You see the paintings on the wall?"

"Yeah? They're really pretty. So?"

"Peeta painted them." I bite my lip to keep from laughing as her mouth drops open in disbelief. She looks around at them and decidedly shakes her head.

"They're too good. Are you sure—?"

I nod. "Yes, Prim. I wouldn't lie. He's really talented, isn't he? I couldn't believe it either when he told me. He painted a few of me, too…." I trail off as a huge mischievous grin comes to her face again. "What?"

"You _totally_ don't love him, Katniss."

"Not this again," I roll my eyes. "I can think someone is talented and not be in love with them, you know."

"Yeah, but you should see your face when you talk about him—"

"My face looks like a face, Prim! And it's half-bruised and swollen anyway, so it's bound to look a little different than usual."

"Whatever," Prim sighs and looks away with a knowing smile. "So where are the paintings of you? I want to see them."

"I don't know," I mutter self-consciously. "I'm not going to go looking through his things, either. You'll have to ask him when he gets back."

"Fine, I _will_."

"You seem to be feeling a lot better today," I observe. "Back to being the usual brat you were before."

She jokingly sticks her tongue out at me and I return the gesture.

* * *

Prim and I occupy ourselves by watching cartoons until Peeta gets back that night. The day seems to drag on forever and with each hour that passes, I'm more and more worried about him. What if something bad happened to him? What if Snow found out he helped us? He didn't get any sleep last night, either, so it's a possibility that he fell asleep at the wheel. All sorts of worst-case-scenarios plague my mind, until finally I hear a knock on the storm door and his assurance of, "Let me in, Katniss. It's Peeta."

As soon as he makes his way down the stairs and shuts the door behind him, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, not caring about the sharp twinge of pain it causes. He stands there frozen, either shocked by my unexpected display of affection in front of Prim or because both of his hands are full and he can't really hug me back. Then again, he might be cautious of hurting my ribs, too.

"I missed you," I murmur into his shoulder. "I was worried that…. Nevermind. I'm just glad you're back."

"I missed you, too. I'm all yours for the weekend, though," he reassures, placing one of the bags down on the floor to rub my back. He kisses the top of my head before yawning, "But I might have to sleep first. It's been a long day."

I pull back and look at his face, noticing he has dark circles beneath his eyes. As soon as I make eye contact with him, though, he glances away and seems a bit twitchy as he moves around me to the bed. There's a noticeable difference about him, but I chalk his avoidant behavior up to being sleep deprived and let it go.

He opens a white paper bag and pulls out some cheeseburgers for us to eat, which we happily thank him for and waste no time devouring. Afterwards, he opens another bag and hands Prim a pretty pink nightgown. She thanks him profusely once again before hugging him and running to the bathroom to try it on.

"Well, that was sweet of you," I remark, smiling at him. "In fact, I'll probably have a hard time convincing her not to wear it during the day. She really loves it."

He shrugs bashfully, "Well, my clothes kind of swallowed her. I um…" He rubs his neck and looks apologetically at me. "I was going to buy you one, too, but…."

"I'm fine, Peeta," I reassure, though I'm a little put out for some reason. "You've done _more_ than enough—"

"If you'd let me _finish_," he shakes his head and kisses my cheek as he brings his arms lightly around my waist. "I was going to say that I sort of… _really_ enjoyed seeing you in my T-shirt. I'll still buy you a nightgown, though, if you'd prefer—"

I place a finger to his mouth. "It's okay. I kind of like wearing your shirts. They smell like you. I mean, like the bakery. It's comforting."

"Good," he replies and kisses me quickly on the mouth. "I want you to be comfortable when you sleep."

"Speaking of which," I counter, remembering what Prim had mentioned earlier, "why didn't you take your prosthetic off last night?"

He shrugs and seems a bit sheepish as he avoids my eyes.

"I don't know. I guess I just didn't think…" he trails off and scratches his head. "I didn't want to make things weird or gross you out."

"Seriously? My face and ribs are swollen and bruised. I look like something that crawled out of a damned _grave_," I retort, somewhat defensive that he'd think I'd be so superficial. "You really think something like _that_ is going to gross me out? Peeta…" I shake my head before hugging him and muttering into his neck, "If you don't take it off when you sleep _tonight_, I'm going _home_."

"Yes, ma'am," he agrees, chuckling a bit nervously as he sits down on the bed and starts taking his shoes off.

"So how was your day?" I ask curiously as I sit down beside him.

"What do you mean?" he replies a little too casually, and I notice that there's a slight shakiness to his voice. Once again, he avoids my eyes and his demeanor slightly changes as he continues, "It was a normal day. I missed having you around, though. All in all, it was pretty boring and uneventful."

I narrow my eyes at him, unsure of what to think of the anxious way he's acting. Maybe he's just really tired, but I can't help being a little suspicious.

"Why are you acting so weird?" He turns to me with wide eyes and visibly gulps, looking like a deer caught in headlights. My gut tightens and I can just _tell_ by the guilty look on his face that something happened that I probably don't want to hear about. Still, I whisper with trepidation, "Peeta, did you do something I should know about?"

He immediately shakes his head and turns back to taking off his shoes.

"I'm just exhausted, Katniss. That's all."

I nod and let it go, although I'm not so sure I totally believe him.


	28. Dreams

_Chapter Twenty-Eight_

**Dreams**

"_**To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget." ― Arundhati Roy**_

Despite the initial gut instinct I have that something's off about his behavior, I ask nothing more about it. It's late and it's more than possible that he _is_ telling the truth about only being exhausted. I feel drowsy myself, having only received about an hour or so of rest throughout the entire day. I couldn't seem to fall asleep again after the nightmare I'd had earlier. It's also possible that since I'm hazy from the pain medicine that I'm just reading way too much into things. It's not worth dwelling on, at least not tonight. Besides, I'm really just happy to finally have him back home.

Peeta yawns and stretches his arms before turning to me with heavy eyes. He places a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it as my eyelids flutter shut and he leans forward to kiss me. His lips linger mere centimeters from mine as he says, "I worried about you the entire day. There wasn't a minute that I didn't think about how you were doing or whether you'd left…"

I press a finger to his lips, instantly silencing his troubled words.

Rather than admitting that I'd felt the same way about him, I opt to _show_ him instead. I close the space between us, bringing my mouth to his in a flurry of ardent kisses, and while at first he's taken aback and seems to debate whether to return the affection due to my injuries—or for that matter, where to rest his hands—he eventually weaves his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck and pulls me closer to deepen our kiss. I encircle his waist and slip my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing my palms strongly against the warmth of his lower back.

I don't know if it's because of the leftover guilt and terror that's still invading my mind from the dream I had earlier or the result of the painkiller causing me to be less inhibited, but I want him as near to me as possible. With as much pain as I'm still in, and as anxious as I've been all day, I need to feel the comforting assurance that only Peeta can give me.

Too soon, though, he pulls away from me with a slight shake of his head and a sleepy smile.

"You seem a little better than last night, at least. The swelling's gone down in your face. Did you take the other painkiller I left you?" he asks and stands up as I nod in reply.

Without warning, he takes off his T-shirt and casually tosses it into a corner of the room. My eyes widen and I immediately look away, my face reddening at seeing his bare upper body. It seems a little ridiculous to be so self-conscious and awkward about looking at him, though, considering he's seen and touched _my_ exposed upper body quite a few times already. But it's my first time seeing any part of _him_ nude, and I didn't expect it to happen so suddenly and nonchalantly. After a moment of internal debate, my curiosity wins out and my eyes drift back to him as he walks over to his dresser.

I've already grown accustomed to _some_ of the details of his body from our lunchtime explorations; every time, my hands wind up under his shirt—like his do with mine—tracing the curves and crevices along his torso, chest, and back. Though it's easy to imagine what it all would look like, and believe me I _have_ imagined, I haven't actually seen any of it. He _is_ my boyfriend, I remind myself, and I shouldn't feel guilty or weird for admiring his stout, firm back or being transfixed by the way his muscles shift and jerk beneath the surface of his skin as he opens a drawer and pulls out a clean T-shirt.

He turns around and tosses it to me, startling me from my gaze and making me jump. I avert my eyes again and take a deep breath without thinking, which immediately causes an excruciating jolt to course through my chest, and my ribs begin to throb uncomfortably. I wince as the shirt lands next to me on the bed. I focus on it for a moment, attempting to stop the room from spinning, and also trying to work up the courage to meet Peeta's eyes after staring so shamelessly at his body.

"Figured you might want something clean to sleep in, too."

I nod and will myself to glance back at him, doing my best to keep my face unreadable. He seems to be totally oblivious of how awkward I feel with him standing there, unnervingly casual with his bare chest in full view.

"Thank you," I mumble quietly, my eyes slowly drifting down from his face. "The shirt you gave me last night is still clean, though."

"I know, but I have plenty of shirts and I don't want you to think you have to wear the same thing the whole time you're here," he shrugs. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible, Katniss. I was going to buy you both something to wear while you're staying here, you know, for during the day, but I didn't know your sizes. I didn't want to guess and get something that didn't fit you. I figured I'd ask you first, then go out and do that in the morning. And if you need anything else don't hesitate to ask. I _did_ pick up some other things I thought you guys might need, like toothbrushes and—"

I nod again, feeling lightheaded—though I'm certain it has _nothing_ at all to do with the medicine or the pain this time. Peeta continues to talk and even though I'm _hearing_ him, I'm not really _listening_. I'm too distracted by his chest. It's just as stocky and toned as his back, and I can't help but wonder how that could be. I know he doesn't do any sort of sports or lifting weights, after all. I also take notice of the curly dark blond hair scattered lightly across his chest, blushing deeply as I follow the trail of it that leads further down his stomach and disappears beneath the waistband of his pants. My gaze rests there for a moment and my heart races faster as I remember how just yesterday evening I'd actually _touched_ him there—that I'd been daring enough to feel his arousal through the fabric of his pants as he repeatedly pushed himself into the palm of my hand. And now, upon seeing his upper body, I can't help wondering what the lower half would look like….

Peeta snaps his fingers and I blink in surprise, realizing I'd completely zoned out momentarily. I look up at his face again, and I'm immediately mortified at the knowing smirk on his face.

"What?" I ask sheepishly and look away from him again.

"Were you just… checking me out?" he inquires in a teasing, playful tone. My mouth drops open and my eyes dart back to his face. He raises his brows for a reply, though from his amused expression, I'm aware I've been caught and he already knows the answer.

"No!" I answer defiantly, even though we both know the contrary. He snorts disbelievingly, so I relent with a roll of my eyes and admit, "Maybe. So? _You're_ the one walking around half naked. What do you expect?"

He laughs, "No need to get all defensive or embarrassed about it, Katniss. I'm… flattered and a little relieved. I mean, you _are_ my girlfriend. It's kind of nice to know the attraction's mutual."

I can't help but frown at the questioning, hopeful tone of his voice… as if he'd been wondering or skeptical as to whether or not I'd found him physically appealing before now. I thought that much was rather obvious without needing to be said. Otherwise, why would I kiss or touch him so intimately? Is it possible that he thinks I'm only doing it out of obligation? I know he has some reservations about himself due to his leg, but surely he doesn't think that matters at all to me when it comes to how I feel about him and, least of all, in finding him good-looking? Because it doesn't; not even a little bit.

He shrugs and turns back to the drawer to retrieve a T-shirt for himself; I nervously bite my lip and debate what to say in reply—or if I should even say anything at all.

"Well, it _is_," I blurt, my face burning. He turns to me with a questioning expression, and I awkwardly fix my gaze on the floor and shrug. "I think you're _very _attractive, Peeta. In fact, it's a little intimidating and I wonder all the time why you're dating _me_."

I know the medicine is a huge factor when it comes to admitting these things to him, because I'm aware that I'd probably never tell him so straight-forwardly otherwise. But it doesn't make any of it less true. Ever since we started dating, I can't help noticing all the females who hang on his every word, acting and speaking flirtatiously with him at school and at the bakery. He seems completely oblivious to their attention, though. Or maybe he thinks they're only being friendly. Perhaps he doesn't care, either. I really don't think he knows how truly charming and handsome he is.

Honestly, I'm a little relieved because of it.

"Funny thing," he smiles at me before slipping the shirt over his head. I find myself a bit disappointed at the loss, but I listen as he continues, "I feel the same exact way about you."

I'm about to tell him how silly that is on his part since he's the only person who would ever date me and I'm completely average looking—if _that_, but at the same moment, Prim comes bursting out of the bathroom. She stops in front of me and begins to twirl in her new pink nightgown, which has puffy sleeves and is covered in little white hearts. She stops all of a sudden, giggling and grinning widely at me before gazing down at it again in awe as if not believing it's actually hers.

"I take it you like it then?" Peeta asks her with an amused smile. Prim nods enthusiastically as she practically skips over to him and wraps her arms around his waist to show her appreciation. He chuckles and tilts his head at me in a way that's equally happy and sad—happy that she's so thrilled, and sad, no doubt, because she's so amazed to receive something as simple as a nightgown. I have to admit that it kind of breaks my heart in a way, too. I guess I can see what Peeta meant about how thankful and disbelieving she gets at the show of any slightest kindness.

"I love it, Peeta!" she gushes. "It's _so_ pretty! Thank you…." She beams up at him, then pulls back once more to twirl in her ankle-length gown. I meet Peeta's eyes, sending him a smile of gratitude for making her so happy, and he gives me a small acknowledging nod before shrugging as if it's no big deal at all.

* * *

After everything settles down once more and we're all ready for bed, Peeta pretty much falls asleep as soon as he lays his head down on the pillow. Prim follows shortly after, having always been able to fall asleep easily, and I also suspect that the excitement over the nightgown had drained whatever remaining energy she had left. As for me, I lie awake on my back and stare at the ceiling once more—as much as I am exhausted, I'm afraid to fall asleep. I'm scared of whatever harrowing images my mind will concoct.

Finally, though, my eyes are too heavy to keep open and I find myself drifting.

"Leave her alone..." I hear Peeta murmur from beside me. I quickly open my eyes again, both thankful and annoyed at the distraction from sleep, and turn my head towards him. I frown upon seeing that his eyes are still closed, though his face is contorted with worry and anguish. I jump as he kicks suddenly with his good leg and violently jerks his head with a grunt. "Katniss! I… I need… please, I…"

I realize he's having night terrors again and that this particular one is apparently about me.

With a grimace from the shooting pain in my chest as I sit up, I turn to him once more, placing a hand on his shoulder to vigorously shake him out of his bad dream. Like I expected, though, he doesn't even acknowledge it. He simply kicks again and moans more incoherent, anxious words. I glance over at Prim, who seems to be in a deep sleep and totally unaware of what's happening. However, I know if his night terror gets any more intense, it'll be a completely different story.

I find his hands beneath the blanket and although he tries to yank them away, I weave our fingers together, gripping him as strongly as I can so he doesn't flail and hurt me any worse than I already am. He wouldn't mean to, but it'd be impossible for him to control anything he does when he's in this state, and last time I ended up being pushed to the floor.

Putting as much pressure and strength into keeping his hands down as possible, I bring a leg over his waist and settle on top of the lower part of his abdomen, making it impossible for him to kick me. All of a sudden, he starts to struggle against me, bringing his hands, which are still within mine, up from beneath the cover to push me away. I regain control of his hands and press down as hard as I can, stilling them on either side of his head before twining my fingers strongly within his once again.

"Get… away…" he demands through gritted teeth, vigorously moving his head back and forth. And then, much to my mortification, his lower body starts to jerk upwards in an attempt to buck me off, and I have no other choice but to place all my weight against him so I won't be. I can feel through the thin material of his sleep shorts that he's at least partially aroused, which I know is probably more of a natural biological reaction than any sort of a sexual one. Still, he keeps thrusting forcefully up against me, and it's both embarrassing and titillating. I shake my head, chastising myself for entertaining such ideas and feelings in his obvious state of distress. After all, he's not even aware of what he's doing.

Without any more delay, I lean over and place my lips firmly to his in an attempt to bring him back to me as I had before. Almost instantly, I feel his body relax and stop protesting as his mouth starts to move languidly against mine. I release my grip on him and bring my hands to comfortingly caress the sides of his face. Realizing I'd been acting mostly on an adrenaline rush that's starting to dissipate, my body begins to feel heavy once more and the exertion from my actions causes my ribs to ache as if they've been cracked all over again. I stay where I am, however, as his hands slowly move to my hips, then further still until his palms cup my backside, giving it a small squeeze. I gasp against his mouth and lean back an inch or two, seeing his eyes are now completely open.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything, but um… why are on top of me, attacking me with kisses in the middle of the night?" Peeta whispers with a sleepy, confused smile, as if nothing had even happened. I close my eyes in slight frustration upon realizing that _of course_ he probably doesn't remember anything. He told me before that he's never really aware when he has night terrors.

So essentially he _is_ just waking up with me straddling him, holding him down with force, and kissing him.

"You were having a night terror and I was trying to wake you up," I explain in a rush. "And it obviously worked."

He shrugs sheepishly and replies with, "In more ways than one. You uh… might want to…" I look at him in confusion for a moment, but he only raises his brows meaningfully and nods down to where I'm sitting on him. My eyes widen as I realize what he means, suddenly taking notice of the hardening lump beneath me. Without a word, I quickly remove myself from his body and lay back down beside him. I stare up at the ceiling and bite my lip as my face burns from embarrassment.

I feel Peeta shift towards me, but I'm too mortified to look at him. He finds my hand under the cover and gives it a reassuring squeeze before scooting closer and kissing my cheek. Resting his chin lightly upon my shoulder, he whispers in my ear, "Thank you for waking me. I'm _really_ sorry you had to, though. I was hoping it wouldn't happen while you guys were here…"

I sigh and turn my face towards his; we're so close I could easily lean forward and kiss him on the nose if I wanted to. I reply with a stern, "Don't apologize for something you can't control. Just… think of good things and try to get some _peaceful_ sleep, okay?" I turn away quickly, unable to look into his eyes anymore, which seem lighter and more penetrative than normal—even in the dark.

He lazily nuzzles against my neck and mumbles, "Good night again, Katniss. I love you." The vibration from his voice makes my whole body shiver, and the sincere but sleepy tone of his words causes butterflies to awaken in my stomach.

"G'night, Peeta."

Inhaling the delicious scent of cookies and cakes that wafts from his skin, I imagine myself inside the bakery—_my_ happy place—as I close my eyes. Soon we both fall into a comfortable sleep with Peeta cuddled up against me, his head resting on my shoulder, and our fingers entwined tightly beneath the blanket.

* * *

I'm standing in the bakery backroom and it's snowing; not outside, but inside.

Huge snowflakes land all around, piling and drifting quickly all around me on the counter-tops, shelves, and floors. I reach out to catch a few of the flakes in my hand, but my palms remain dry. For some reason, I notice, none of it will touch me or come near me at all. It's as if there's an invisible shield surrounding me.

Despite my icy surroundings, I feel unbelievably warm and content. I catch my reflection in a nearby window and see that it's _not _an invisible shield surrounding my body, but flames; in fact, upon closer inspection, they're permeating from my skin. It doesn't hurt or consume me at all, though. The flames seem to burn more radiantly the more I look at them, just like the last rays of the sun before it sets in the evening sky. It's always brightest before the dark.

I look past my reflection, noticing there's a tornado outside that's destroying everything in its path. It terrifies me, but for some reason I feel safe where I am. I know I'm protected and that it won't hurt me here.

I turn around to see Peeta smile at me and place a pan full of freshly decorated cupcakes down onto the counter. I make my way over and see that they're butterfly cupcakes; I pick one up and am pleasantly surprised when all the butterflies come to life and start fluttering around us—flapping their wings of purple, blue, pink, orange, and every other color imaginable. Breathtaking and magnificent, they fly around the room, leaving glittering trails of color behind them that land upon the snow. Soon, the stark white room is painted vividly to life.

"Can you make the snow go away?" I ask sadly, noticing the flakes are coming down even heavier to cover up the beautiful remnants of the butterflies' color.

"No, but you can," he answers softly, opening my hands. Dazzling, sparkling, colorful flames dance within the center of my palms. He brings them to his cheeks and rests them there. Smiling and closing his eyes, he continues to explain, "Snow can never coexist with fire. One will always bring the death of the other."

Peeta opens his eyes again, and I'm elated and mesmerized by the brilliant blue of them—they seem to glow with life, and it's as if they can see right through me. I feel naked when he looks at me. Not in a vulnerable way, though, but in knowing I can show him all of me and never be afraid of being judged or ridiculed. As I think this, I glance down at myself and notice that instead of his penetrating eyes only making me _feel_ naked, I _am_ naked.

It seems Peeta has undressed me with his eyes.

I don't feel uncomfortable or ugly though. In fact, quite the opposite is true. I feel relaxed and… _beautiful_—especially when I look up at Peeta again to see him gazing back at me with wonder, as if he'd never seen anything so breathtaking before. I blush and wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him as I lay my head against his chest, and it's only then that I realize it's bare. Pulling back slightly, I notice that he's fully nude as well.

But still, it doesn't seem weird at all; it seems surprisingly normal.

Peeta makes no comment on our state of undress, as if it's the most natural thing ever, and simply smiles as he dips his finger into the snow on the counter-top and brings it to my lips. Without even pausing to think, my tongue darts out to lick it off. My eyes widen as I realize it's blackberry crème. The snow has completely stopped falling and every inch that had settled upon the bakery's surface has now transformed into my favorite desert topping.

"You have the power to change anything you want," Peeta whispers near my ear. "Anything at all. You just have to _want_ to change it."

I nod in understanding, feeling the fire upon my skin move inward, internally igniting every inch of me. I feel alive and powerful; passionate and daring. I scoop a handful of the crème and smear it onto Peeta's body, giggling mirthfully as I do so. He laughs, too, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he takes a handful and spreads it onto my neck and breasts.

After a moment, we fall silent again as we look at each other. There's no need for words; our eyes say everything.

I sensuously begin to lick the crème off his neck and chest, swirling my tongue along his skin, and savoring the taste of my two favorite things being blended together so deliciously. He places his hands upon my hips, lifting me up and sitting me onto the counter as he positions himself between my legs. He dips his head and envelops my breast with his mouth, lovingly nipping at the pointed middle, licking the crème off with an aching slowness; he alternates between the two of them, my hands nestled within his hair, pulling him closer to me as he continues tasting and kissing his way up my neck.

Finally our mouths meet, and with a sigh and a grunt against each other's lips, our bodies connect in more ways than one.

He holds onto my thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist to bring him even closer. Slowly at first, he pushes into me and back out, recurrent and confidently, he picks up speed as our mouths and arms embrace and seek refuge within the other.

It's as if our bodies know that our souls are two parts of a whole, and that merging together is the only way to ever find completion.

Whether the words come from his mouth, from inside my head, from a feeling, or merely from a disembodied echo, with each thrust they're there; repetitive and beautiful as our bodies unite with a growing intensity…

_I love you. _

_I love you. _

_I love you._

As the friction between us grows, so does something inside me. I'm not sure what it is, whether it's physical or emotional, but it's intensely pleasurable and overwhelming. Pressure is building in the center of my body, the room is spinning, and suddenly, as if not being able to contain the fire inside me any longer, the flames erupt out of every pore of my body in a fantastic burst of color.

With a small cry, my eyes dart open and I quickly sit up. I try to ignore the excruciating pain in my ribs for a moment, and instead focus on the pleasure that's contrasting it below. There's an intense throbbing between my legs—but not like anything I've ever felt before; this time it's _very_ different. Like I felt something detonate, albeit a _very _enjoyable and powerful explosion, down there, and now it's as if little blissful aftershocks are continuously pulsating to every nerve-ending in my body.

I'm trembling and sweaty all over and, besides the pulsation below, I also feel extremely wet as well. I bring both of my hands to my face and shake my head, trying to regain composure over myself and my body as I tighten my legs together, feeling embarrassed and confused over the dream and what had happened as a result. While I'm not exactly sure what _had _happened, I do know it definitely had something to do with Peeta and sex. I had no idea my body was capable of making me feel so euphoric, and as strange and self-conscious as it makes me, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to feel it again.

It's no doubt a side-effect of the painkiller causing me to have extremely vivid dreams and impulse desires, but still….

_What the hell was that_?

I tense up when I feel a strong, gentle hand start to soothingly caress my back. The bed shifts behind me and I hold my breath as Peeta sits up next to me.

"Hey, you okay?" he whispers in concern, leaving a small comforting kiss on my shoulder before resting his chin on it. "Bad dream?"

I take in a deep, shaky breath and shrug a shoulder.

"I'm fine," I answer in a small voice.

"She had a _really_ bad dream when you were gone during the day, too," I hear Prim sleepily chime in from behind me. "I had to wake her up because she was crying and thrashing about."

"You wanna talk about it?" Peeta asks, moving his arm around me so I can rest my head on his shoulder.

I know I can't tell him about the dream. Besides, what am I supposed to say? _Hey, Peeta. We just had sex in a dream and it was really amazing_? Somehow I think that'd be more than a little awkward. Well, more so than I feel already. Besides, Prim is listening to us quite intently anyway.

"I… um. I don't even remember…." I answer weakly. I realize I'm wringing my hands, so I try to still them and act casual. However, I can't prevent them from trembling along with the rest of my body, and when I shift my eyes to Peeta, I see that he's frowning. I can tell from the way he's looking at me that he doesn't really believe me.

"Well, if you _happen_ to remember and you want to talk about, you _know_ I'll listen," he replies, raising his brows pointedly. I give a dismissive nod and quickly remove the covers from myself. Fearing the worst and thoroughly embarrassed from the wetness I feel below, I quickly make my way to the edge of the bed in order to get to the bathroom. However, I'm forced to stop in my tracks for a moment due to the stabbing pain in my ribs. I rest a hand beneath my breast, wincing as I bite my lip to keep any whimpers from escaping. The medicine has nearly worn off and even the simple act of breathing has become a chore once again.

"I'll get you an ice pack for that in second. In the meantime…." Peeta opens up a drawer next to his bed and pulls out an orange medicine bottle. He retrieves another painkiller and hands it to me, which I don't hesitate to take at all. He runs a hand through my hair, gently tucking it behind my ear as I take a drink and swallow the pill. I purposefully avoid looking at him, though, because every time I do, flashes of the dream fill my head. "It's a little after eight anyway, we should be getting up."

"It's _Saturday, _though_,_" Prim states incredulously, scrunching her face up in confusion at Peeta as she rubs her eye with the back of her hand. "It's still really early."

Peeta gives a small chuckle, looking mildly surprised at Prim's rebuttal.

"_You_ can sleep in as long as you want, Prim. As for _me_, I like to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I was kind of hoping you'd join me, but if you'd rather—"

"I'll watch with you!" she replies excitedly before he can even finish, perking up in an instant. Peeta grabs the remote from the bedside dresser and turns on the TV, flipping through channels before he lands on a station that has cartoons. I try to brace myself for the walk to the bathroom, but before I can, Prim scoots over to me, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses my cheek.

"I love you, sis," she mumbles sympathetically into my hair. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Me too," I whisper, patting her arm in a feeble attempt to return her affection. "I'll be okay."

Peeta reaches for his prosthetic limb and maneuvers himself to the edge of the bed to put it on. He seems very self-conscious as he does so and avoids looking in our direction, but before _I_ can say anything to put him at ease, Prim leaves my side for his.

"Do you need any help, Peeta?" she asks confidently. He looks at her with a sense of bewilderment, as if not expecting her to be so comfortable with seeing his missing leg, let alone in offering to assist him with it.

"Um… I think I can get it," he answers, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thanks for the offer, though. That's very kind of you."

"Can I watch how you put it on, then?" Prim asks, her eyes lighting up hopefully. He looks taken aback, but amused at her curiosity. She must have caught his slight confusion because she quickly explains, "I want to be a nurse when I grow up. So I figure I should learn these things if I can, right?"

"Right…" He nods in agreement before turning his body towards her more so she can see what he's doing. "And for what it's worth, I think you'll be an excellent nurse!"

Prim grins up at him, and I can tell that his encouragement has made her even more confident. Likewise, her enthusiasm and interest has put Peeta at ease about his leg. As I watch them interact, I can't help imagining how gentle and supportive he'll be as a father someday. He just seems to have a natural way with children, always going out of his way to talk to them and make them feel important when they come into the bakery with their parents. Like his dad, he usually gives them a small treat for free—which never fails to make them happy. Children rarely leave the bakery without a smile on their face when Peeta's around.

And then, as if I've been drenched with ice-water, I snap out of it. I realize I don't _want _to think about Peeta being a happy, nurturing father with a perfect family… because if I'm being realistic, it'll happen with someone else—because I _definitely_ can't see it being with me. Not that I wouldn't like to stay with him for as long as he'll keep me around, because I do enjoy every moment we're together. But I know eventually he's going to tire of all this. He's going to realize I am not the kind of girl he wants to be with, that we're too different, that this is too much hassle, and he'll set his eyes on someone better suited for him—someone beautiful, charming, and _normal_.

And I don't see myself ever becoming a mother.

I clear my throat and finally stand up slowly. I notice Peeta glancing at me from the corner of my eye, but I'm unable to look at him; it feels way too revealing to do so—like he might be able to hear my thoughts or read my mind if I keep eye contact with him long enough. Luckily, the pain seems to be subsiding slightly and I can breathe somewhat normally again.

Remembering I'm sweaty all over and still have things to check on down below—_praying_ I didn't start my period because that would be awkward to have to tell Peeta, I ask timidly, "Do you mind if I take a bath?"

"Of course not," Peeta replies as he finishes fastening his prosthetic leg. He wastes no time in making his way over to me, placing a hand on my back for support as he continues, "Let me get you something clean to wear." I'm about to tell him I don't need anything, but then I realize it might be good to have a back-up set of clothing just in case.

* * *

Once I've started running a bath, I rid myself of Peeta's clothes. It feels strange to be standing stark naked in an unfamiliar place, and even though I _know _that no one can see me, I still feel a bit self-conscious. I take a quick peek at myself in the mirror and grimace at how horrible I look. With a heavy sigh, I check between my legs with two fingers, hoping that I don't see red. I'm more than relieved to find that the sticky wetness I feel all the way to my thighs is completely clear. This has happened quite often to me since puberty, and even more since I've started dating Peeta, but never to this extent. I know it's a natural reaction that my body has when it's aroused or stimulated, and that's a big reason why I don't want Peeta to touch me that intimately. I'm not sure I want him to know that he has that sort of effect on me.

Without wasting any more time, I step into the tub and sit down in the water. It feels amazing as my body relaxes and I lay my head back, closing my eyes as the water gets deeper and deeper around me. It's been so long since I've had a hot bath that I'd almost forgotten how nice it feels. The last time I had one, I was Prim's age—and I was too preoccupied playing with my dolls that I didn't take the time to appreciate it then. I never thought there'd be a time when a hot bath would be a rarity.

I run my hands along my body beneath the water, cleaning myself and enjoying the warmth against my skin. Even my ribs feel almost normal as the tension in my muscles melt away. Then again, the painkiller has probably completely kicked in by now, too. All I know is that it's been a while since I've felt this comfortable, and I don't feel like ever getting out.

I think of the dream again—or more about what the dream had _caused_. I never knew my body was capable of feeling like that, or that a dream could have such an overwhelming effect. I suddenly remember the time Peeta had asked me if I'd ever touched myself. I was confused at the time because I didn't really see the point of it, but now I'm curious and eager to feel again what I'd felt earlier. Then I wonder if that was what he'd experienced on our date; I know our anatomy is different, but perhaps it was something similar. After all, he said things build up and explode, and that it felt really good. And that's what happened to me, too.

I part my knees slightly and bring a hand to the place between my legs; specifically to the area that usually throbs when Peeta kisses and touches me—the same spot that earlier sent ripples of pleasure throughout my entire body. I don't really know what I'm doing at all, but it doesn't seem to matter—it feels amazing. I sink into my thoughts, imagining that it's Peeta's lips and hands gently squeezing my breast and touching me so intimately between my legs, and somehow this makes everything feel even better. I bite my lip, trying not to make any noise or move my hips as I increase the speed and pressure while rubbing the tingly, sensitive nub below. It's such a strange, but wonderful feeling—ticklish, but not. I'm caught somewhere between wanting to clamp my trembling legs together or open them further. In anticipation of the bliss I'd felt before, I hold my breath as my heart starts to beat faster and something begins building up inside of me.

I hear Prim laugh loudly from the next room and I practically jump out of my skin, splashing loudly and pulling my hand back as I snap my legs shut as if I'd been caught. I sit up and cover my face with my hands in an attempt to collect myself. Now isn't the appropriate time or place to be doing this. I ignore the small spasms below as I wash my hair and body in a hurry. I've lost track of time and the water is getting colder, so I know I've been in here for a while. I'm sure Prim and Peeta are wondering what's taking me so long.

Once I'm clothed, and my hair and teeth are brushed, I exit the bathroom to find Peeta and Prim sitting beside each other on the bed, looking thoroughly entertained. They both have a sketchbook in their lap, and it appears that Peeta is teaching Prim how to draw.

"Hey," he says with a half-smile, looking up from his sketchbook as soon he notices me.

"Hey," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest as my cheeks begin to redden. "What are you guys doing?"

"He's teaching me how to draw!" Prim says excitedly. She sticks her tongue out and wrinkles her nose, "I'm pretty rotten at it, though."

Peeta shakes his head and winks at me, his blue eyes bright with amusement. I look quickly at Prim again to avoid his gaze.

"You are _not,_" Peeta counters.

"Am too! My _dog _looked like a _bear_."

"Then it's not a dog at all, is it? It's a bear. Sometimes your brain envisions something, but the hand has a mind of its own," he explains cheerfully. "A lot of art happens by accident, and it doesn't always turn out the way you want it to. But it's still great the way it is."

Prim sighs and raises an eyebrow skeptically before focusing back on whatever she's drawing, "If you say so. I still think I'm bad at this, though."

"Well, I don't," he says before looking at me again. "You want to join us?"

I shake my head and sit down on the bed next to Prim. I see Peeta staring at me from the corner of my eye, and I don't even have to look directly at him to know he's confused as to why I didn't choose to sit by him. I cross my arms over my chest again and keep my focus on the cartoon on the TV.

"I should probably get you that ice pack now," he says quietly, a slight questioning tone in his voice as he places his sketchbook on the side table and stretches his arms. "And also head to the store to pick some things up. I'm sure you both are hungry and I'd rather not make my mom suspicious by bringing a bunch of food down here. What do you guys like to eat?"

"Pizza!" Prim answers excitedly.

"For _breakfast_, Prim," I say, rolling my eyes. Needless to say she has a new favorite food since Peeta took us to the pizza buffet, not that she ever had a choice to even _have _a favorite before. I raise my eyebrows at Peeta and frown, "And you're _not _paying for all of this. It's my fault we're here, so you don't need to treat us like we're special guests or something."

"It is _not_ your fault that you're here, and _yes_ I _am_ paying," Peeta replies strongly as he picks his keys up off of his desk and pockets them. He turns back to me before I can object and asks, "Also, what are your sizes? I'm going to pick you both something up to wear—"

"Peeta, there's no need for that. We're not staying here that long," I answer, averting my eyes as he knits his brows and shakes his head at me.

"We'll talk about that when I get back," he says. "Are you going to tell me your sizes, or do I need to guess?"

I shrug a shoulder and pretend to focus on the TV, "Guess."

Honestly, it's been so long since I've done any shopping for clothes that I don't actually know our sizes. I usually just wear whatever will cover my body, and it's always a couple sizes too big—but I'm comfortable with that.

"So I'm getting you something tight and girly then?" he teases. I scowl over at him, but my disapproving look only makes him break out into a wide grin.

"That'd be _wonderful,_ Peeta," I reply with an air of indifference, a tight-lipped smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "And I'm sure your _new _girlfriend would absolutely _love _them."

He snorts, "Point taken. I'll do my best then. I'm going to get you that ice pack real quick and then head out."

* * *

I don't say anything as he goes up the stairs. I want to object because I'm honestly not all that comfortable with him doing all these things for me, but I know he'd insist on doing them anyway. I'm not used to anyone going out of their way to take care of me, and I'm not sure I ever will be. I'm not sure how to react to it. It's kind of like when he gives me compliments—I'd heard them so infrequently prior to being with him, I don't really know what to say when I get them, and my first thought is to assume he's lying to me.

Prim insists on applying the ice pack to me as I hold the pillow over my face. It's just as painful as the first time, but she's surprisingly confident in what she's doing. I can't help but take a little pride in how ambitious she is about becoming a nurse. Like Peeta, I truly believe she'd be wonderful at it someday.

As the pain in my ribs numbs to a dull, cold ache, I find myself starting to feel a little heartbroken because I know that the steps to becoming a nurse would mean she'd have to go to college. With the life we live, that's not even an idea that can be entertained. Maybe things will change between now and when that time comes, but as it is… I can only see things becoming bleaker. I don't have the heart to tell her that, though. I never would anyway; it's good that she has a dream to keep her strong and prevalent. And who knows? Life might just surprise us both.

When Peeta comes back a couple hours later, he has his arms loaded with bags.

And also a pizza box which Prim instantly perks up at seeing.

I shake my head a little at Peeta's weakness at wanting to please everyone, but I can't help but smile at it either. He's grinning ear to ear, and obviously very excited as he sits the pizza and the bags down onto the bed.

"Here's lunch, my lovely ladies," he says, sliding the pizza box over to us. Prim wastes no time in opening it and enthusiastically retrieving a slice, vocalizing her thanks as she takes a huge bite. Peeta reaches into a bag and pulls out a white teddy bear. It has a nursing uniform on with a big red heart on the shirt, and it even has a hat and a stethoscope. I roll my eyes good-naturedly, knowing exactly who he bought it for. He hands it to Prim without a word, and her mouth drops open in surprise. He shrugs with a twinkle in his eye and explains, "Thought it was fitting for a future nurse who draws _beautiful_ bears."

Prim hugs it to her chest, appearing to be on the verge of tears. Her lip is quivering and I can tell she wants to say something, but she's afraid it'll come out all shaky. Like me, she's not used to receiving gifts, and especially not new toys. Gale occasionally gives her some of Posy's old things, but by then they're usually pretty worn and broken, especially considering they're usually from thrift shops when he buys them for his sister in the first place. But Prim never complains and she's always happy to have anything at all.

But _this_? To receive a _brand new_ toy that has never been played with and is only meant for her? It's a feeling of wonder and gratitude that's so hard to explain, and yet… it's incredibly overwhelming. I know, because I feel the same way every time Peeta does something unexpected and sweet for me.

He continues to pull things from the bag and hands a couple outfits to Prim, all of them bright and flowery, just like her. All brand new, too. Prim doesn't say anything, just stares at it all in disbelief, holding up the shirts he'd bought her as if she's in a daze or something. All of a sudden she makes her way over and, without a word, hugs him tightly. Peeta and I smile at each other as he hugs her back. As much as I disapprove of him buying all of this stuff for us, seeing Prim so happy she's speechless makes me push those thoughts to the back of my mind and just accept his generosity for what it is.

"Thank you," she finally says in a small voice as she pulls away. She picks up her new clothes and stands up from the bed, "Can I try them on now?"

Peeta nods encouragingly, gesturing towards the bathroom, and she practically skips there with her new teddy bear clutched tightly beneath one arm, and the clothes in the other. As the door shuts behind her, I give a small laugh and raise my eyebrows at him.

"If you ever have kids, they're going to be spoiled rotten, Peeta."

"If you ever have kids, I assure you they will be," he winks, smiling meaningfully at me. I feel my face heat up at the insinuation, and as I'm about to say something to counter him, he leans down and captures my lips with his.

After all the thoughts I've had today of him kissing and touching me, it feels like heaven to finally experience the real thing. I relax instantly and wrap my arms around his neck to bring him closer. Our kiss starts out slow, dry, and tender, but as I lay back and pull him with me, things takes a quick turn and our kisses become hurried, wet, and passionate. He keeps his body a safe distance from my ribs, but I wrap my legs around his waist to bring his lower half to mine. His lips leave my own for a moment as he begins to leave open mouthed kisses along my jaw and neck, and it takes all my restraint not to arch into him and direct his head down to my breasts. I know with my injuries, he won't go near them in fear of hurting me, though—and honestly, that's probably for the best—but there's an insatiable ache for them to be touched.

He kisses his way over my collarbone, back up my neck and to my mouth once more before running his tongue sensuously along my bottom lip and sucking gently on it. The ache quickly moves down to the center of my body, and the throbbing sensation is back again. Without thinking, I roll my hips into his, causing our lower bodies to meet intimately through the fabric of our clothing. It's oddly satisfying, so I do it again, and in turn, he pushes back into me. I moan into his kiss and bring my hands to his hips to bring him even closer against me. Suddenly, he sits up and closes his eyes before rubbing them.

"Sorry… we can't. Not with the way you are and with Prim…" He opens his eyes again, looking apologetic and miserable.

"I know. I'm sorry," I mumble, sitting up again as I wipe at my face and run a hand through my hair. "It's… the pain medicine. It's making me…" I shrug, not really wanting to explain any further.

He stands up from the bed and leans down to kiss me on the forehead.

"God, _please_ don't _ever_ apologize for that, Katniss," he says, giving a small chuckle as he leans back up. With a wink, he opens another bag and pauses. "I didn't say I didn't like it. I really enjoyed it. Like… really, really, _really_ enjoyed it. But it's kind of a mood killer when your little sister might walk in on us at any moment and I also have to avoid your chest, which if I'm being honest, is one of my favorite things to touch."

I roll my eyes in amusement and ask curiously, "So what's in the bag?"

He pulls out some clothes for me. A dark green sweater, a brown peasant top with beads around the edges and flared sleeves, and a purple T-shirt with a white dandelion being blown in the wind. They're all larges, too, so I won't feel uncomfortable wearing them. He also bought me a couple pairs of jeans that are made of stretchable material and a pair of black jogging pants.

I feel just as overwhelmed as Prim had. I don't know what to say. I just look down at them, awestruck and moved by his thoughtfulness. I feel so undeserving of his kindness, and yet… I know he'd never accept me not accepting it.

"I know the purple one might be a bit too girly for you, but—"

I shake my head and smile up at him, "I love it, Peeta. It's a dandelion from my dandy lion."

He nods without a word and kisses me on the forehead again before opening another bag.

He hands me a couple packages, one containing 3 sports-bras and the other is a multi-pack of underwear. I raise an eyebrow at him, my face heating up in thinking that he'd even thought to get me these things. Imagining Peeta actually going into the women's section of a store and picking these sorts of things up for me is both embarrassing and amusing. I don't comment on it, though, because from the blush on his cheeks and the way he's nervously rubbing his neck, I can tell that he's slightly uncomfortable and anxious about what my reaction might be, so I simply smile and tell him thanks, which seems to instantly put him at ease.

"Oh, I forgot something in my car," he tells me with a huge grin, his eyes lighting up almost mischievously. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay…" I reply suspiciously.

When he comes back a few minutes later, my eyes widen and I shake my head in disbelief at what he has in his hand.

"That's not…" I start, but my voice breaks off. I clear my throat and try to keep my emotions at bay. "That isn't for _me_, is it?"

"Who _else_ would it be for?" Peeta asks jovially, handing me a brand new fishing pole. "I also have a tackle box with hooks and bobbers and things. I didn't really know what to get, but the salesman was pretty helpful. Probably a little _too_ helpful; I'm sure I bought stuff you won't even use, but that's all right. I just want to make you happy."

I reluctantly take the pole from him, my hands shaking uncontrollably and my mouth dry as I look down at it, not fully believing my eyes. I finally look back at him and find my voice once more, though it comes out a bit uneven, "You don't have to buy me things to make me happy. I'm happy just being with you."

* * *

We spend the rest of the day and evening watching cartoons and Disney movies and playing board games.

When Peeta mentioned his favorite Disney movie being The Lion King, Prim revealed that she'd never watched it or any other Disney movies in her life. He seemed surprised by this and instantly made it his duty and mission to introduce her to all of them eventually. It'd been so long since I'd seen any of them, myself, that I felt nostalgia similar to when he reintroduced me to The Wizard of Oz.

When the last movie is over and it's almost time for us to go to bed, Prim asks excitedly if she can take another bubble bath. Of course, Peeta says yes and runs her one. When she's out of the room for a few minutes, Peeta turns to me and looks a little too serious for my liking. I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn't know how to word it, or how badly I'll react.

I lean up against the headboard and finally ask him what's wrong as I pat the spot beside me.

He hesitantly sits down next to me and gulps, sucking in a deep breath as he closes his eyes. He's still reluctant about saying anything, and I suddenly realize that I don't want to hear it, either. From the way he's acting, whatever it is, I _know_ it'll be bad and it'll probably ruin the night.

"Prim… she told me a few things about how you lived on the first night you were here," Peeta finally says in a quiet voice, avoiding my eyes. He runs a hand through his hair and releases a long breath. I feel my heart start to beat faster, wondering what exactly she'd told him. "Katniss, I knew you were being abused and that was bad enough, but I had no idea…" he trails off, shaking his head.

"No idea about _what_?"

He opens his eyes and turns to me, and I can see that there isn't a hint of humor in his demeanor left at all.

"No running water or indoor plumbing, taking baths in lakes, no electricity, not visiting a doctor when you need it, your bedridden mother, having to fish and hunt so you don't starve, chopping wood to—"

"Yeah? Well, Prim needs to learn to keep her mouth shut!" I snap.

"_No_, Prim's smart for asking for help," Peeta counters, "it wouldn't do you harm to learn from her, actually." He's silent for a moment before whispering strongly, "So this has been going on for years?"

I purse my lips and stare down at my lap, feeling frustrated and insulted, but I nod anyway. What's the point of lying? Prim already told him everything.

"I knew you had a rough home life, but I didn't know all the details or to what extent," Peeta continues in a shaky, but confident tone. "Katniss, we _need _to talk about doing something about this."

"Not tonight."

"Yes, _tonight_," he insists. "It's gone on for long enough."

I look over at him with narrowed eyes, "It doesn't concern you. I'm not talking about it. Feel free to run your mouth all you want, but I'm not saying anything tonight."

"I wish you'd stop being so guarded about all this and just… _talk_ to me. I _want_ to help you—god, you have _no idea_ how much! But you won't—" he starts, obviously a bit aggravated, but I cut him off, feeling just as annoyed.

"I never _wanted _you to help me!" My hands are starting to tremble, and I feel exposed and defensive. I don't like Peeta making me feel guilty about all of this, and I'm tired of explaining things and no one understanding at all. "It was _Prim_ who insisted that I call you. I never asked for your pity or your presents, okay?"

"I never _said_ you asked for _anything_, Katniss," Peeta says. "_I'm_ asking _you_ to let me help."

"There's nothing you or anyone can do! I can stay or try to get away, but either way I'm probably going to die. I'm choosing the scenario that doesn't get others killed, too," I answer as calmly as I can and cross my arms. "And I'm done talking about this."

"Well, _I'm_ not," he retorts, raising his eyebrows at me in defiance. "I'm also not letting you go back—"

"Like _hell_ you're not!" I snort derisively, cutting him off as my annoyance starts to turn to anger. "What are you going to do? Lock me in here, hold me captive in your bedroom and not let me go to work or school? Yeah, that's going to work. Stop being an asshole, Peeta. I don't take kindly to threats."

"So I'm an asshole for trying to keep you safe? You know, I wish you'd take the attitude you have against getting help and redirect it at the people actually hurting you," he states in a voice that's both pained and indignant. "And I've actually thought of a way to help you, but you won't even talk about it long enough for me to explain—"

"You're forcing me to talk about it _now_, aren't you?" I say coolly. "If you have something to say, say it."

He sighs and rubs his eyes before asking in a quiet voice, "Look, can we stop arguing and discuss this calmly? I want to help you because you mean the world to me and if something happened to you…" He trails off, and I can see him looking rather intensely at me from the corner of my eye. I refuse to look at him, though. I simply shrug and say nothing, trying to keep my face as passive as possible.

"What if I drove a couple towns over, into a different county, used a payphone with no security cameras or people around, and called some higher authorities?" I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. He glances away from me and rubs his neck as he continues, "I'm talking about the FBI and the Attorney General, people that don't take reports of police corruption lightly. And maybe I could hire a Private Investigator to speed things along? I was thinking, what if you got rid of the man behind the curtain… the man running this town? If you get rid of Coin, Snow loses his backup power, right?"

Something about the anxious way he's acting makes me suspicious; it's the same way he was acting when he came home last night. Listening to the tone of his words, rather than what he's saying, he seems to be seeking approval for something that he's already done instead of my opinion on a future possible plan.

"This _is_ hypothetical, right?" I whisper, closing my eyes and trying to get the bad gut feeling I have to go away.

"Let's say it _is_ hypothetical. What do you think?"

"No. Let's not _say_ it is. It better _be_ hypothetical!" I open my eyes again to glare at him in warning. I shake my head, my voice uneven and my whole body trembling with adrenaline, "Because I _know_ you wouldn't do something that reckless. You wouldn't go behind my _back_ and betray me like that. You'd _talk_ to me first."

"I didn't _betray_ you, Katniss! And I didn't go behind your back. I've tried to talk to you time and time again about this, but you never want to talk about it. And even if you ever did, I know you'd be too scared to ever _do_ anything about it!"

"So what, you felt the need to do it anyway? Regardless of how I feel about it?"

Peeta goes silent for a moment, as if trying to calm back down. He gulps and takes in another deep breath as he turns to me with a determined glint in his eye and his jaw muscles tensed.

"Yes, I did," he says boldly. "Because it _needs_ to end! They shouldn't be able to get away with what they do! It doesn't only affect you and Prim, it affects the whole town! Do you know how many lives he's probably ruined? There could be other children out there right now in the same position you are—"

He continues to rant and give me his reasons, but I've stopped listening. It feels like my world has come crashing down around me at his admission. My sweet and considerate Peeta would never do this to me; he wouldn't go behind my back and put all of our lives at risk like this.

But he has. And I'm not sure how to process it, let alone handle it.

I feel like a cartoon character that just got an anvil dropped on their head out of nowhere.

"You actually… you actually _fucking _did it, then?" I interrupt heatedly as soon as I regain the ability to speak. I look at him with wide, angry eyes, "Do you know what you've _done_? Do you have _any_ idea? You've essentially dug graves for Prim and me. Possibly even for yourself, too!"

"What I _did_ was try to prevent that exact thing from happening!"

"Did you even _think_ about what'll happen if Coin is actually arrested?" I counter as every worst case scenario starts to pop into my head at once. "Snow's already paranoid. He'll feel cornered, like he's next. He'll blame it on me. I _know_ he'll kill us for this!"

"I was careful, there's no way this will come back to you—"

"It doesn't matter! You don't know how he is, Peeta! And what happens if he gets arrested along with Coin? The authorities will come out to talk to my mom and… I have no doubt we'll be taken away by the state."

"Would that be so bad?" he shoots back, frowning deeply. "Having a shot at a normal life?"

"Prim and I would be sent to foster homes and more than likely be separated! So yes, it _would_ be that bad. Not to mention, the foster homes could be just as abusive," I answer in utter disbelief of how he can be so dismissive about my fears. He knows that Prim means the world to me, and even though I'm aware he thinks he's trying to help and do what's right, I'd have thought he'd at least be a bit more sympathetic. Tears start to well up in my eyes and I don't even bother to wipe them away. I _want_ him to know how scared and angry and betrayed he's made me feel. "I'd also be out of your life if that happened. Then again, that's probably what you want, right? To get rid of the poor, damaged girl while still playing the hero?"

"You _know _that's not true at all. I _love_—"

"_Don't even say it_!"

"—_you_, and if I _didn't_ care, I'd just let this continue on, ignoring the hell you're going through. Please understand that I _can't_ do that! It was hard enough watching silently from a distance all these years, wondering, but hesitant to ask or do anything. Now that I've really gotten to know you… I can't just ignore everything and hope for the best. And, besides, even if that happens with the foster care, you'll be turning eighteen in May. That's only a few months away—"

"Eight months isn't a _few_, Peeta!"

"—then you're free to leave at will. And eight months is _nothing_ compared to having to endure years more of him abusing you, or having to live the way you do. When you get to leave, you can come stay with me. I'll try as hard as I can to help you get custody of Prim. So would my dad."

"So your dad knows about this, too?" I exclaim indignantly, feeling cornered and even angrier at the thought that this will probably cost me my job.

"Not yet," he replies with a shrug, speaking way too calmly for my liking. "I think you should tell him, though. He's going to wonder about the bruises—"

"How about I tell him about your psycho mom?" I say vehemently, wanting him to feel just as hurt and back-stabbed as I do. "In fact, maybe I should turn _her_ into social services, or call the FBI!"

"Katniss, this isn't about _me_! I'm not the one with a black eye and cracked ribs at the moment," Peeta replies. "Feel free to turn her in, be my guest, but she'd get out of it. Besides, I turn eighteen in a little over a month, so it'd be kind of pointless. You need to think of Prim right now. She has her whole life ahead of her, with big hopes and dreams… and they aren't going to happen if you let this continue. She's a kid right _now_, but think of how this could affect her when she becomes an adult."

"What, so you think I _don't_? You really think that I don't worry about that all the time? Look, I know it's hard for you to comprehend, being a little _rich boy_ who has never had to go without, but Prim is all _I_ have, and I am all _she_ has. She's my only reason for even living—"

"You've got to know how unhealthy that is, though!" he counters with exasperation dripping from every syllable. "Loving your sister is one thing, but thinking your existence is only important to keep her alive is…" I stand up and head towards the storm door, feeling the need to be as far away from him as possible. I stop, though, when I remember that Prim is still taking a bath and I can't leave without her. Peeta makes his way over and stands in front of me. He places a hand on my shoulder, and I can't help the tears spilling down my cheeks. He lifts my chin and says in a quiet voice, "You're every bit as important as she is, Katniss, and you have so much to live for. I know you have dreams, too—"

"Not really."

Because I'm already living a nightmare.

"And that right there is why this needs to end."

"You're right," I reply, giving a small cynical laugh and shrugging his hand off of my shoulder. "This _does_ need to end. I should have never let it start."

He starts to bring his arms around me in an attempt to give me a hug, but I push him away—which in turn makes my ribs start to throb in excruciating pain.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I snap, shaking my head in disbelief as I hold a hand to my chest. Surely he didn't think I'd be so weak that hugging me would somehow make it all better? It actually just makes me angrier. "Just stop pretending like you give a _damn_ about me, okay? Obviously you don't care at all about my opinion in any of this so why the hell should I say anything at all?" I walk away from him and sit on the edge of the bed. We're both silent for a moment before I finally whisper, "I don't want to be involved in any of this. I don't want to even know about it."

"I won't say anything more about it to you, then," he offers as he sits down beside me.

"No, you don't get it," I reply, keeping my gaze on the floor. I hurt everywhere in my body, but it hurts more to look at him. My voice comes out shaky and I never thought I'd be the one having to say the words, but I see no other choice, "If you're involved in this, I can't be involved with you."

"You're not…" Peeta starts to ask, and I don't have to look at him to know that he's crushed by my words. I feel like throwing up or running away, or simply not existing. I never thought I'd intentionally break Peeta Mellark's heart, but I never knew he'd shatter mine, either. "You're not breaking up with me? Over trying to help you?"

"You're not helping, Peeta, you're digging my grave," I explain in a small, defeated voice. I feel like I have no strength left in my body, not even my voice seems to come out strongly. He's left me with no other choice, though. I close my eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming, and add, "And of course I'm breaking up with you. I don't even know if I can ever forgive you for this, honestly."

"Katniss, just calm down for a bit and think this over, okay? We can talk this out, I'd love to actually discuss this in detail with you without you getting all defensive."

"There's nothing to think or talk more about. It's not like I'll never be able to trust you again after this."

"Why? It's not like I lied or kept it a secret. I _told_ you; I didn't betray your trust!" he counters with heartfelt conviction. He tries to run a hand through my hair, but I smack it away. "I'm only doing this because I want to grow old with you, laugh and cry with you, start a family with you someday and because I hate seeing you in pain and being afraid. I love you _so_ much, Katniss—"

"Well, none of that is _ever_ going to happen," I reply dismissively, and when I finally look at him, it's as if seeing a stranger. "And right now I'm pretty sure I hate you."

* * *

I'm back on Tumblr: Dandelionsunsetff (link is my profile), so feel free to say hi or yell at me, which ever the case may be. Thanks for reading!

Also, there was a chapter in the beginning (7?) that was not a chapter, but an author's note. I deleted that "chapter", and so it's making it appear as if I deleted chapter 29 (since that's what it says people have reviewed when it comes to this chapter), but it's actually chapter 28. So I'm sorry if there is any confusion with that.


	29. Heartbreak

_Chapter Twenty-Nine_

**Heartbreak**

"_**You'll swoop from incredible highs when you're just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you've accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent." **_

–_**Andrew Davidson**_

I regret saying such harsh words as soon as they leave my mouth, but I'm too angry to take them back. Regardless of the fact that I could never _truly_ hate Peeta, the only thing I want at the moment is for him to feel as hurt and heartbroken as I do. It appears that what I'd said had its aimed effect too, because in an instant his face falls from self-assured to utterly dejected. He frowns deeply and his eyes lose their usual lively glint before being replaced with a mixture of anguish and disbelief. I try not to feel bad about it, though; I already feel bad enough. Besides, he brought this entirely upon himself.

He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again and looks away from me. It seems I've rendered him speechless. As for me, I have nothing more to say. I don't want to talk to him; don't even want to look at him. I hastily wipe at my eyes and hold my breath in an attempt to stop crying; all it's doing is making my ribs hurt even worse, and there isn't any point in it anyway. Peeta's already done what he's done, and no amount of tears can take it back.

"You don't _really_ hate me," he says after a couple of minutes of tense silence, and though he's trying to sound confident, his voice wavers with a hint of uncertainty. "You just hate what you think I've done."

"What I _think_ you've done?"

"You think I betrayed you."

"And you _didn't_?"

"No, I did the exact _opposite_, Katniss! I'm standing up for you. I'm trying to put an end to the hell you're going through! I'm _trying_ to give you and Prim a chance at a normal life, one where you don't have to constantly live in fear. Why can't you understand that?" Peeta asks in an exasperated rush. "I _hate_ seeing you in pain and unable to do anything about it. I can't do it anymore. I can't… I can't _feel_ as much as I do for you, knowing you'll always be holding back because you're too afraid to live or even consider that you can have a future. I'm tired of hearing you talk about yourself as if you're already dead."

I feel his eyes burning a hole through me, but I still refuse to look at him. I know he's waiting for me to reply, to say I forgive him and everything will be okay, but I'm not going to. No matter how much he tries to justify his actions, it doesn't make the situation any different. If Snow doesn't kill us for this, Coin or his cohorts will—and Peeta will be to blame for it. Not entirely, though. I'm aware that I'm just as guilty in all of this as he is, if not more so, even if I didn't have a hand in Peeta's actions.

I should have listened to my gut instinct from the beginning and stayed to myself. Gale was right about what he'd said. I _am _being selfish by having a relationship with Peeta. I put my own happiness and pleasure above everyone else's, and now we're all going to pay for it. I never should have allowed myself to get this close to him—to _anyone_—and I sure as hell shouldn't have told him so many personal details about my life. It was hard not to when he's been so open with me, though, and I never dreamed that he'd do something like this… that he'd throw caution to the wind and trample on my trust.

He's silent for a moment before sighing and continuing in a quieter, determined tone, "Please understand that I'm trying to _help_ you, not hurt you. I know you're scared of what might happen, but you _don't_ have to face this alone. We can do this together, we can bring them down. You hold more power than you realize, and you're way stronger than you think. I'll _always_ be here for you in any way you want or need, no matter what. Just… _please_ don't shut me out."

"You already shut me out when you decided to do all this without telling me first!" I retort, narrowing my eyes as I turn to face him. "How did you _think_ I was going to react?"

"I wasn't sure," he answers with a half shrug. "I hoped you'd be a bit more reasonable, though. I mean, you have to know you can't keep living like this… it has to end sometime. The sooner, the better."

"Oh, I'm being _unreasonable_? You've basically tossed a bunch of rocks at a hornet's nest and we're all going to be stung to death because of it. So yeah, you're damn right I'm being unreasonable! At the moment all I can think of is how many horrible ways this can backfire! I just _know_ this isn't going to end well. I can't believe you would do this to me, Peeta. I trusted you! You _promised _you wouldn't tell anyone… did you conveniently forget that?"

My body is trembling horribly, so I stand up again in order to alleviate my anxiety a bit. My legs feel like jelly and my ribs are throbbing so bad it hurts to even breathe, and with every strep I take, the pain radiates throughout my entire body like tiny lightning bolts outlined with needles. Still, it's better than sitting next to Peeta, knowing I'll never feel his touch or his kiss or his embrace again after this. I walk a few feet away before turning back around, placing my hands on my hips, and shaking my head at him in agitation. My mind is still trying to process what he's done, and my heart doesn't _want_ to believe it. Just as I was growing used to all of this, to being comfortable with him, he has to go and do something so unimaginably reckless and unforgivable. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw as if he's getting annoyed or frustrated. This only serves to make me angrier. He has no right or reason to get mad at _me_ for reacting this way—he should have expected it.

"I'm _not_ the bad guy in all of this, Katniss!" Peeta says as he stands up and walks over to me. I back up a few feet so he can't get any closer. I don't want him to touch or kiss me; I don't want to give myself the opportunity to become weak due to his sugarcoated words or closeness—that's what started all of this in the first place. He knits his brows and after taking a deep breath, continues more quietly, "I didn't forget, okay? I _know_ I promised, but… look, I know you want me to apologize or say I made a mistake, but I'm not going to do that. I _am_ sorry for breaking the promise, but I don't take back what I did. You're scared of the consequences, I get that. But this _needs_ to be done. They need to be stopped. And you deserve to be happy. I'll never be sorry for wanting that." He looks away from me and shrugs a shoulder, "Even if it makes you _hate_ me."

"I was happy with the way things were," I whisper weakly as I cross my arms lightly over my chest.

"No, you weren't. You're not," Peeta replies with a disbelieving shake of his head. He gulps and takes a cautious step towards me, stopping as I narrow my eyes at him in warning. "Every time I kiss you, every time I touch you, you're mine for the moment. You seem happy, but I know it's really only a happy distraction. Because even in those moments, when you let yourself feel and you come alive, I still see it in your eyes: fear, anxiety, sadness—"

"You're wrong, though. I _was_ happy every moment I was with you! So much that it scared me," I counter, my heart pounding rapidly and my voice wavering as I try to keep tears from slipping from my eyes again. "In those moments… I only wanted to be with you and to feel good—for us _both _to feel good. I felt like I could tell you anything. For a while I almost felt like someone else. Someone…_normal._" I shrug and close my eyes before saying bitterly, "Now I just feel really stupid for thinking I could ever trust you."

"You can _still_ trust me," he replies strongly as he moves closer and stands right in front of me. I roll my eyes and snort, fixing my gaze on the floor with rebellious determination. His hand slips gently beneath my chin, causing me to flinch and purse my lips in disapproval. I know he wants me to look at him, but I refuse to; instead, I look off to the side. In an instant, Peeta drops his hand from my face again and releases a disheartened sigh, yet he continues undeterred. "Katniss… you shouldn't be _afraid_ of being happy, okay? It shouldn't be a rarity for you to feel good. You say you felt like someone else as if that's a good thing. I want to be with _you_. _Katniss Everdeen_. I love_ Katniss Everdeen._ I don't want to be with _someone else_, and I want you to be happy to be _you_. Until Snow and Coin and all these people who make you feel worthless are out of your life, I know you're never going to believe how wonderful you really are, no matter how many times I tell you."

I finally look at him, but I don't know what to say; there's a lump in my throat that I know will cause me to start crying like an idiot if I find my voice anyway. From the wistful, sincere look in Peeta's eyes, I know that he means every word he's saying, and a part of me just wants to hug and kiss him and tell him I forgive him. But then I remember what Snow said—how he'd cut Prim into pieces and make me help if he ever found out I told anyone, and the millions of other horrible threats he's made over the years—and then I get angry and resentful all over again. I'm conflicted and confused, and everything I feel is painful and overwhelming. At the moment, I just want to sleep and never wake up again. It feels like any decision I make will be the wrong one anyway.

"It was never supposed to be this serious," I whisper.

"When was this situation ever _not_ serious?" He bites his bottom lip and raises his eyebrows in question. I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger. I don't want to witness his pained expression when I tell him what I'm going to say next.

"I'm… I'm not just talking about all of that," I reply as calmly as I can, although my heart is beating so erratically it feels as if it might burst out of my chest. "I meant _us_."

"When it comes to us, it's always _been_ serious for me," Peeta says, his blue eyes searching mine. "I thought you felt the same way."

"I don't know what I feel… what I _felt_," I answer honestly. "I _do_ know you're taking this far too seriously than I ever intended, though. You want things I can't give you. Regardless of you going behind my back and doing what you did, this subject would have come up eventually anyway. We're opposites, Peeta, in every possible way. We want different things, and we're definitely not well-suited for each other."

"What are these _different_ _things_ you're talking about?" he asks dismissively.

Now that it's come to this, I feel the need to unload all of the insecurities I've had about our relationship and the future obstacles I know we'd face eventually. In the beginning, I thought this would only be a temporary thing, that he'd break up with me quickly, and we'd never have to approach the topic of our differences.

"I don't ever want to have children, for one thing," I answer, raising my eyebrows defiantly at him. My admission seems to take him by surprise because, for a moment, he looks as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He sucks in a deep breath, however, and almost immediately regains his composure as his face transforms into an unreadable mask.

"Okay," he shrugs quickly, and his voice is surprisingly void of emotion. "I want you, and if that's what you want, then that's how it'll be."

"In your heart, I _know_ you want kids someday, though."

Peeta shrugs and flits his eyes away from my own as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "What do you want me to say, Katniss?"

"I want you to be honest with yourself, _and _with me, and admit that we'd never work out in the long run. We're too different. I'm _not_ the type of woman you should end up with."

"We're _not_ that different, though. We're more alike than you realize. And I'm being _completely_ honest when I say that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't know what this other _type_ of woman is that you think I should be with, but I don't agree. You're perfect for me and the only _type_ I want," he says with great fervor. "You say you don't want certain things, and I'll always respect what you want. You might _legitimately_ feel that way. Personally, though, I think you're really afraid of change. You're wary of hope or wanting, so you just tell yourself you don't want things. You're so convinced you're going to die that everything about being alive scares you to death anyway. You second guess everything you do. Never taking chances to move forward and always being hesitant of happiness is no way to live, Katniss."

"Whatever, Peeta. I took a _huge_ chance with you, and look where I am _now_! Full of _regret_!" I retort icily, glaring at him for insulting me so self-righteously. How dare he tell me how I feel and what I want, or what will bring me happiness. The more he speaks, the more I'm convinced that I want to be anywhere besides here with him. My hands are balled into trembling fists, my face is completely red, and I feel like I'm going to explode from all the anger and annoyance building inside me.

Peeta runs a shaky hand through his hair as he narrows his eyes at me, and for a moment we simply stare at each other with pure animosity. For all the sweetness and understanding that Peeta has shown me, I see nothing of it right now. It seems he's finally seeing me for what I am, and for what we could never be. As horrible as it makes me feel, I know it's necessary. Tears still well up in my eyes, despite trying to keep them at bay, and I quickly avert my gaze, bitterly swiping at my face to rid the traitorous wetness on my cheeks.

"You're _really_ breaking up with me?" Peeta whispers incredulously, finally breaking the silence between us. And though he's asking, it comes out more like a bewildered statement.

"Yes," I answer quietly, feeling my heart shatter at the final tone of our argument, realizing these will be the final words of our relationship.

"Fine," Peeta replies, holding his hands up in surrender, and I know from the tears in his eyes and the repeated clenching of his jaw that he's anything _but _fine. In stark contrast of his sullen disposition, his voice comes out hoarse and vacant as he continues, "If saving your life means losing your love, then that's a risk I have to take. I'm done arguing about it. If you don't want to be with me, I'm not going to force you. Because you're right… as much as I care for you, I can't make you feel the same. If you're unhappy, we'd both be. Just know that I'm still going to love you, though, no matter how much you hate me."

I want to tell him how much I _don't_ hate him, and that I care for him too, but doing so would be counter-productive to breaking up with him. I don't want to give him hope and prolong the whole ordeal. I wish it didn't have to come to this, but I see no other choice in the matter. And as it sinks in deeper that I'll never get to hug or kiss him, or feel protected in his arms ever again, I feel panic rise up in me as I realize the more practical losses that breaking up with Peeta entails.

"I guess this means I'm fired from the bakery then?" I ask hesitantly, dreading the answer. I understand why I would be, really, but it hurts to think about. The bakery is my safe haven, a place where I feel completely comfortable, and the thought of losing it from my life is almost as heartbreaking as losing Peeta. Not to mention, I _need_ the job. Without it, I know we won't make it through the winter very well at all.

There isn't much I can do about it at this point, though.

"No, of course not," Peeta answers quickly, frowning deeply as he shakes his head. With a disheartened sigh, he turns and starts to walk away just as I notice a tear start to roll down his cheek. He sits down on the bed and, and when he speaks to me again his voice is hollow and monotonous, "You still have a job, Katniss, and you always will as long as you want it. I told you in the beginning that if we broke up, your position at the bakery wouldn't be affected, and I meant that. I'll still provide your transportation. I know how much this job means to you and your family, and I'm not petty. We _will_ have to get along when we're working, though."

I give a silent nod, feeling both relieved and anxious, and wondering just how weird things are going to be between us at work now that we're no longer dating.

"I'll pay you for the rides," I insist.

"No, you won't. It's on the way, Katniss," he replies dismissively. "Just because we're not together anymore doesn't mean we're enemies all of a sudden."

"What?" Prim's shocked voice comes from behind me. I turn to see her standing in the bathroom doorway in her long pink nightgown, eyes darting in wide-eyed confusion from me, to Peeta, and then back to me again. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later," I reply as evenly as I can. "We're going home so you need to change into your old clothes."

Her lips start trembling and tears spring up in her eyes as she counters with an adamant, "No!"

"Prim," I warn, rubbing my eyes to relieve the stress building behind them. "I'm not in the mood. Just go change!"

"I don't want to leave!" she argues, shaking her head and hugging her bear closer to her chest. She looks past me to Peeta, and pleads with tears streaming down her face, "Please tell her we have to stay!"

I swivel around and raise my eyebrows in challenge at Peeta, waiting for him to team up against me with Prim. Instead, he just stares at the floor with a vacant expression and shrugs heavily, as if he doesn't have any energy left in him to even speak.

"She won't listen to me," he mumbles as he glances dolefully up at Prim.

"Did she break up with you?" Prim asks with a defensive edge to her voice. Peeta shrugs and gives one curt nod of his head before Prim practically yells at me, "You broke up with him? That's so _dumb_, Katniss—" I place my hand over her mouth and, with my other hand, point to the bathroom for her to go change. She glares at me with more venom in her eyes than she's ever had before and bites into my palm, causing me to gasp and draw my hand back in shock. I'm angry with her behavior, but before I can react or say anything, for the second time in her life, she screams that she hates me before running into the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

I walk over and knock, but she doesn't answer so I close my eyes, turn around, and lay the back of my head lightly against it, feeling irritated and exhausted. I think I actually feel worse now than I did when I was being kicked by Snow. Everything was acceptable before this… not perfect or even good, but at least I had an escape from the horrors of real life when I was with Peeta… now he's buried me in the thick of them without any remorse.

"You can't walk all that way in the shape you're in," I hear Peeta say suddenly, and I open my eyes to look over at him. He raises his eyebrows pointedly, but his face is completely impassive. "And I'm not driving you home. You really need to calm down and think this over—"

"Drive me to Gale's then," I offer flippantly. "He'll let me sleep there for the night."

"In his bed, I'm assuming?" he asks, bitterness palpable in his voice.

"Yeah, it's always been that way before," I answer with a roll of my eyes. I can't help feeling a little triumphant as the emotionless mask slips from Peeta's face and is replaced by disapproval and annoyance. However, the fact that he's being so obviously possessive at this moment, especially about Gale, thoroughly agitates me, so I sarcastically add, "Oh yeah, and we're _totally _gonna have sex all night long, Peeta!"

"Seriously?" he asks heatedly, his eyes narrowed and his face red. "You just broke up with me and now you're trying to make me _jealous_?"

"Not intentionally! You're being ridiculous, and I'm trying to show you how stupid you're being about it. For the last time, Gale's my _friend_ and that's _all_!" I answer in exasperation.

"Well, he seems more than _friendly_ towards you," he counters.

"No. He's just protective because he thinks you're only after one thing."

"And what's that?"

"What do you _think_?" I ask, arching an eyebrow at him. He looks incredulously at me, his mouth gaping for a moment before he snaps it shut.

"I think he's an asshole for telling you something like that. You _know_ it's obviously _not_ true!"

"I know, and I told him that," I shrug, waving a hand at him dismissively. "We're broken up now anyway, so it's really none of your business at this point. I'm done talking about it."

Without a word, Peeta makes his way over to me again. He stands in front of me, his eyes pleading and intense as he stares unblinkingly into my own. I can see heartache and worry etched into every inch of his face as he looks down at me, and my first instinct is to somehow make all the hurt go away. But then I remember _I'm_ the one who caused the pain, and why, and then I feel resentful for having a moment of weakness. I purse my lips and look down at the floor; it makes everything easier if I don't look into his eyes.

"Katniss, please think this over, okay? We have something amazing," he whispers. He places a hand on my cheek, but I turn my head away from his touch.

"_Had_," I correct abruptly.

Peeta sighs, and after pausing briefly, asks in a rush, "So you don't even want to discuss the information I have? Because from what I gather, there's already an ongoing investigation—"

"I don't care, Peeta! I don't want to hear about any of it!"

"Well, when you do, I'm here. I'm not giving up on taking them down. With or without you."

"It'll definitely be _without_ me," I reply bitterly as I turn away from him and knock on the bathroom door again. "Prim, _hurry up!"_

"I'm not coming out!" she answers.

"Like hell you're not!" I snap, feeling all the patience seep from my body. How in the world did it get to this point? Where trying to protect the two people I care the most about has caused them to hate me for it. I can understand Peeta being angry with me, and I'm just as angry with him. Prim should know better, though. After all these years of providing for her, taking her beatings, and doing what's in her best interest… this is how she repays me?

"Prim, please come out… for _me_?" Peeta asks gently from behind me and taps on the door. "I _promise_ you're not going home."

"Are we staying here?"

"No, we're not," I reply quickly, turning back to give Peeta a challenging look. "He's driving us to Gale's. Aren't you, Peeta?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he answers heavily with a huge frown on his face and his blue eyes questioning me, as if asking why I'm trying to hurt him. But I'm not. I'm doing what I think is best for all involved; the only problem is that he believes that's what he's trying to do too. Peeta then drops his voice to a near whisper so Prim can't hear. "I wish you'd stay, though. I still want you to be safe, even if you're not my girlfriend. You're still my friend, right?"

"I don't know anymore," I answer dejectedly. "I don't know what I feel or what to think anymore, especially when it comes to you."

* * *

It takes about thirty more minutes to convince Prim to come out of the bathroom, and the only reason we manage to do so was because Peeta said he had to use it.

She sits on the bed and glares hatefully at me, refusing to speak directly to me and only to Peeta. I find it aggravating, but I'm aware that, like me, she's simply worried about how everything will change from here on out. She knows the bakery is our lifeline and has become a home away from home for us. In fact, it's more of a home than our actual home—if you can even call it that at all.

It's also obvious by now that she thinks Peeta is incapable of doing anything wrong, having fully convinced herself that he's some sort of Prince Charming, and that he'll somehow be the answer to all of our problems. I don't like that she's upset with me, but I guess I can understand why. After all, she doesn't even know _why _I broke up with him. We'd had such a lovely day, watching movies and playing games together, and she takes a bubble bath only to come back out to this. All she sees is me breaking Peeta's heart and dashing her dreams of a happily ever after in one go. Honestly, at the moment, I don't think very highly of myself for it either, but I'm also not _entirely _at fault for all of this.

Prim stubbornly insists on taking everything Peeta had bought her with us, but I opt to leave mine behind. It just doesn't seem right to take his gifts after breaking up with him, and I figure he can return the clothes and fishing pole and get his money back. Peeta tries to argue with me that he's not going to do that and it's better off that I take it all with me so that it gets put to good use. I still refuse to take them with me, though, and he eventually reverts into frustrated silence. He does, however, give me his bottle of painkillers—telling me he can get a new prescription if he needs it—and I don't object. My ribs are sending excruciating shockwaves of pain throughout my entire body, the intensity amplified due to all the stress and crying, and I know I can't really afford to turn down his offer of medicine. As for Prim taking all of her new things home with her, I'm not all that worried about it. Snow has never been very observant about new things like clothes and toys, simply assuming Gale had given them to us, and that's exactly what I'll tell him if he asks about any of it. I know Gale will back me up, no matter what, if he's asked about it.

When we finally make it out to the car, I walk ahead of them and sit in the backseat, and they quickly take their seats in the front. Prim rolls her eyes at me and huffs resentfully as she sits down, but doesn't say a word. Peeta, on the other hand, looks back at me with furrowed brows and shakes his head.

"Really, Katniss?" he asks dismally, "You're being ridiculous."

"I agree," Prim adds curtly.

I merely shrug in reply and cross my arms over my chest. I don't feel like explaining that being close to him right now would only cause us both more pain. He exhales loudly, seemingly irritated with me, as he turns around and starts the car.

The ride to Gale's house isn't very long at all, only a few miles, but it seems to take forever. The tension in the car is so thick it could be cut with a knife, and the silence is deafening. The fact that things have reached a point where we know words can't heal or change the situation isn't lost on me. It's hard to decipher if Peeta's silence is due to heartbreak, anger, or acceptance, though. Maybe it's all three… I know it is for me.

I stare at him as he drives, his eyes narrowed on the road and his mouth curved into a stony frown, and I feel pain in my chest that has nothing to do with my ribs. As Gale's house comes into view, it suddenly takes all of my willpower not to break down, give in, and tell him this is all a mistake. I hold my breath as a wave of regret and sorrow rise up inside me, causing tears to flood my eyes and my face to redden. I _could_ easily take it all back. We could put this behind us, forget it ever happened….

And then I remind myself that we _can't_ forget it ever happened, because Peeta already put our lives on the line, and it's _not_ something that_ can_ be taken back. He betrayed my trust and broke his promise to me, and he obviously has no intention of ceasing his mission of bringing Coin and Snow down; even _after_ I told him what danger it places everyone in. I feel absolutely _horrible_ about breaking up with him, but he drove the final wedge between us. He has no idea what he's getting himself into, and if it's going to happen, if he's going to continue to be reckless and go through with all of this, then I don't want to know the details. Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss—the less you know, the better off you are, and I _definitely_ don't want to be involved when it comes to Coin. That's worse than standing up to Snow. Snow's merely a minion, but Coin is the ringleader. If he finds out, which is more than possible as he has eyes and ears everywhere in town, you're basically asking for a slow, torturous death. No one will _ever _find your body, either; you'll just be another person who ran away or went missing without a trace.

Peeta stops the car and remains silent as he places his elbow on the window ledge and rests his head on his hand. From my position in the backseat, I can clearly see the muscles tensing in his face and neck, as if it's taking every bit of patience in him not to say or do something he'll regret. But before I can say anything to him, Prim starts to sob. I ignore her protests as I open my door, eager to put as much distance between me and Peeta as quickly as possible.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks in a hoarse, questioning tone.

"Yeah?"

He hesitates for a moment before muttering a quick, "Just… take care of yourself, okay? Don't do something you'll regret just to get back at me."

"Like what?" I ask defensively, raising my eyebrows.

"Nothing," he shrugs and closes his eyes, though I can tell it's definitely something. "Just please think things over."

"Whatever," I reply briskly and turn to get out of the car.

"Katniss?" he asks again.

I groan and turn back to him with an agitated scowl, "What?"

"I love you," he says wistfully, "Please remember that? I'm only doing this to help you."

"Sure," I mumble with a roll of my eyes before exiting the car.

I go to Prim's door to open it, but she locks it and shakes her head. Peeta says something to her, but I can't quite catch what it is since the window is rolled up. She answers him back rather seriously, though she's still crying. I tap on the window impatiently, extremely annoyed at the way she's behaving, and a part of me just wants to walk off and leave her. I know I can't do that though. Peeta leans over and whispers something into her ear, and whatever it is, Prim nods and immediately wipes away her tears before opening the door and joining me with an evil glare.

Without any parting words or another glance in my direction, Peeta drives off. I watch as his car disappears around the corner, feeling relief, dread, fear, panic, heartache, and a myriad of other things all wrapped up into one big ball of anxiety inside my chest.

Most of all, however, I just feel empty, hurt, and lost.

I have no idea how I'm going to go back to my old life now. I was better off not knowing what I was missing, because it _already_ feels as if there's a void in my life without Peeta in it.

How in the world am I going to do this?

"What did he whisper to you?" I ask Prim sternly as I try to ignore the tightening feeling in my gut.

"None of your business," she snaps and quickly walks off to the house. I notice that Gale's truck isn't out front, meaning he's still at work. His mom or one of his siblings will let us in to wait for him, so it's not really a big deal. Prim knocks on the door just as I catch up to her, and I hear the familiar sound of dogs barking as footsteps slowly approach.

"Go lay down," Gale's mom, Hazelle, mutters to the dogs as she flings the door open. She turns to us with raised eyebrows. "Hey girls, what brings you by at this hour?"

I shrug, not knowing how to answer. Usually it's either Gale or one of the kids that answers the door. Hazelle is nice enough, but she's also pretty much in the dark about the way we live. That or she chooses to ignore it. Most people in these parts tend to look the other way when it comes to situations like ours, and since Snow moved us away, she and Mom have lost all contact with each other, having both developed health issues that prevent them from going very far. While Gale's mom doesn't do drugs or have any contact with Snow anymore, it's still a sore point and I don't fully trust her enough to tell her the truth of what's going on.

"I just came to see Gale," I reply quietly. "We need to talk about some things."

She smiles knowingly and nods.

"Gale aint home yet. He's at work for a few more hours, but I imagine he'll be right happy to see you, Kitty. I warn you though, the boy has been moody as all hell lately."

"When has he ever _not_ been?" I ask rhetorically, the corner of my mouth tugging up into a smile that I don't feel at all. I have a suspicion that Gale's moodiness has a lot to do with me.

She lets out a hoarse chuckle and nods, "Fair point. You girls come on in and make yourselves at home." She stands back from the door and leans on a cane, noticeably short of breath. Once inside, Prim departs quickly to Posy's room, leaving me standing alone with Hazelle. After taking a few deep breaths and looking at me curiously, she frowns and points to my face. "What happened there, hon? That's a whopper of a black eye."

My heart quickens at being put on the spot, and I search my brain for a believable excuse.

"I… got hit in the face with a limb," I answer with a shrug. "I wasn't watching where I was going and I ran right into it."

She raises her dark grey eyebrows at me, giving me a skeptical look, and tells me in a conspiratorial whisper, "Well, that damned _limb_ needs to be chopped down to size if you ask me." She sighs and shakes her head as she hobbles her way into the kitchen on her wooden cane, "Come on and I'll cut a potato for it. Should help get the swelling right down in a jiffy."

I nod, but I say nothing as I join her. I stand at the kitchen sink, watching curiously as she opens the nearly empty fridge and retrieves a potato from the crisper. She cuts it into thin slices before placing them all into a plastic sandwich bag and handing it to me.

"Go lie down in Gale's room and place these on your eyes. It'll help some," she informs me with a pitying smile.

"Thanks," I whisper.

As I'm about to turn and head to his room, she takes me by surprise and asks, "How's your mama doing? I haven't heard from her in quite some time."

She frowns and appears genuinely concerned. I bite my lip for a moment, unsure of how to answer. I respect her because she's my elder and she's never been mean to me, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't resent her for never warning my mom—her _best friend_ at one time—that the man she planned to marry was an infamous drug dealer. Hazelle is clean now and has been for years, but it's still hard not to slightly blame her for bringing Snow into our lives in the first place.

"Sleeping a lot," I answer with an offhand shrug. "Doesn't ever say much."

She nods in reply, looking contemplative and a little worried, and I take the silence as an opportunity to make my way to Gale's room and shut the door behind me.

I'm surprised to see that his room is actually clean for once, but I don't really focus on it as tears flood my eyes and my legs give out weakly beneath me. I let myself fall lightly to the floor, ignoring the aching in my ribs, and wrap my arms tightly around my knees. Since I'm alone and no one can see me, I have no reason to hold back how I feel, so I lay my head within my arms and simply cry. I'm aware that it does the situation no good, but it's the only thing I can think of to do, and at least crying doesn't hurt anyone else.

After it seems like I'm dried up of all my tears, and my ribs throb so painfully it steals my breath away, I finally stand up and lie down on Gale's bed. I place the potato slices on my eyelids and just_ think_ about everything. I think of what _might_ happen, and then I think of what _has_ happened. And then I think of the things I wish _could_ have happened, but I know never will. One thing remains a constant in every thought, though—_Peeta_.

I'm still lost in my thoughts when the door opens, and I hear a heavy sigh as it clicks shut again.

"Mom said you were in here," I hear Gale say. "Won't your boyfriend get mad that you're sleeping in my bed?"

"Don't be an asshole. I'm not in the mood," I reply, my voice hoarse and nearly gone from all the crying I've done. I don't even bother to sit up or even take the potatoes from my eyelids. I'm sure my eyes are red and puffy, and I'm not sure how I'd react if Gale mocked me for it.

He's silent for a moment, and I feel the mattress shift as he sits down beside me.

"What happened?" he asks, sounding surprisingly concerned. "Mom said you were banged up pretty bad."

"What do you think?" I answer monotonously. "Snow. It's always Snow."

"Figured so," he remarks angrily. "Fucking asswipe needs to be shot."

"I don't disagree," I remark, lifting a potato slice off of my eye to look at him. "But not by you."

He scowls and nods as he looks away from me.

"I would, though, if I didn't have my family to help. I hate seeing this shit and not being able to put him in his place without making it worse on you."

I replace the potato slice on my eyelid and shrug, "It is what it is, Gale." And I don't know why I tell him, but I find myself blurting out, "Peeta seems to think taking Coin out will bring Snow down, too."

It's quiet for a minute before Gale says impatiently, "Well? You can't just say something like that and not explain."

I abruptly sit up, taking the potato slices off of my eyes, and look at him as impassively as I can. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of Gale.

"Long story short, he went behind my back, drove a couple towns over, called the FBI, the Attorney General, and apparently even hired a private investigator to bring Coin and everyone he's associated with down. I understand he _thinks_ he's doing something good, but if they find out…" I drag a finger across my neck.

"Yeah, but if they _don't_, which is more than possible, then that's a pretty damn good plan, Katniss. I have to hand it to him," Gale replies, looking slightly impressed. "I wish I'd thought of it."

"So you're taking _his _side?" I snap defensively, narrowing my eyes.

"I don't even _know _him," Gale shoots back as he starts to take his boots off. "But I'm pretty sure _his side_ is your side, too. At least, that's what it sounds like to me. The chances of them finding out is low if things are investigated correctly, and even if they _do_ find out they're being investigated… do you know how many enemies they _have_, Kat? The only reason Coin has this town in the palm of his hand is because of fear and blackmail. I think if the authorities offered immunity and even_ one_ person stood up to them, more would follow suit without question. Power in numbers, and all that," he shrugs before yawning deeply.

From the serious tone of his voice, I can tell that he's completely on board with Peeta's actions. I know that anything I have to say in retaliation, he'll just make me feel as if I'm being irrational. Maybe I am. But I also don't want to take any chances, no matter how small, of Prim being killed. I don't say anything else in reply. He doesn't need to know about my breakup with Peeta or anything more than what I've told him already. Right now, I don't really need another person against me.

"So you're sleeping here tonight?" he asks casually.

"I guess so," I answer as I lie back down and place the potato slices on my eyelids. "You can drive me home in the morning."

* * *

Originally, I planned on this chapter being really long, like almost 20k words, but I decided to split it in half. The reason I did this is because I deleted an earlier "chapter" (chapter 7) that was really an Authors Note, but it didn't delete the reviews for that chapter. So now, my reviews are all like a chapter ahead. Meaning, if you click on Ch 29 reviews, you'll see all of last chapter's reviews instead of this one (and anyone who reviewed last chapter, can't leave a signed review on this one. You can still leave a Guest review though, if you feel inclined to). It's all really confusing and screwed up, but yeah. I'm just posting this to sort of fix the gap in between. And the good news is that a new chapter will be posted soon, and I think you all will really enjoy it. Lots of things are going to be happening. :) Sorry for the long wait! As always, thanks for reading.

Also, my tumblr is dandelionsunsetff if you want to stop by and say hi or ask/comment about anything about the story.


	30. Want

Chapter Thirty

**Want**

"_**Life happened. In all its banality, brutality, cruelty, unfairness. But also in its beauty, pleasures, and delights. Life happened."**_

_**― **__**Thrity Umrigar**_

Gale and I lay with our backs facing each other and the blanket pulled up to our shoulders. I can tell by his shallow breathing that he's already asleep, but I can't seem to shut my mind off. I keep my eyes closed, though, and try to ignore the queasiness in my stomach, the ache in my ribs, and the pounding in my head. I took a painkiller earlier, which _is_ helping alleviate the pain in my body, but it does nothing to prevent my heart from aching.

I avoid sleep out of fear of having a nightmare again, but being awake isn't much better. I'm thankful that Gale is facing the opposite direction and can't see me, because I can't stop thinking about Peeta and in doing so, I have to keep wiping away tears. I hold my breath to keep from making any sound, but once or twice a small whimper or a sniffle escapes me, and I have to cover it up by coughing or clearing my throat. I can't help but wonder if Peeta's asleep at the moment, or if he's lying awake like I am, replaying all the horrible things that were said and done tonight and wishing things had gone differently. I'd take back everything in a heartbeat if he could take back what he's done… but he _can't_. I never thought he'd do something like this to me, and it still doesn't seem real.

Despite the fact that what he's doing is completely reckless, and though I've tried to rationalize my actions towards him a hundred different ways, I still can't help feeling overwhelmingly guilty about everything. The defeated, heartbroken look on his face keeps flashing through my mind, and the more I try to push the image away and not think about it, the more it becomes prevalent. I also find it unnerving how despite sleeping in Gale's bed many times in the past without a second thought, I feel very uncomfortable and inappropriate about doing it now.

I must have fallen asleep while lost in all these thoughts and worries, because the next thing I know, I wake up frantically screaming Peeta's name. I sit up in an instant, tears streaming down my face and my body shaking uncontrollably from absolute terror. I hear Gale's voice from beside me, but I'm too distraught to actually listen to anything he's saying.

This dream was just as vivid as the others, but much more horrifying.

Snow and Coin were in this one, and were forcing me to torture Peeta. They laughed gleefully as I cut him open. He screamed and pleaded as blood puddled at his feet, but if I stopped they'd threaten to hurt Prim in the same exact way. Eventually, Peeta gave in to the pain and accepted his suffering without question. I knew he was slowly slipping away from me. I was killing him in the most horrific way possible, and he simply stared back at me with understanding and forgiveness as the life drained from him.

"I still love you," he whispered as his eyes began to finally close.

And I didn't deserve it.

For all I had done to him, he should have hated me. I hated myself for it. In fact, I wanted to turn the knife on myself, but they wouldn't let me. If I did, they would have killed Prim _and _Peeta. Only if I was alive would Prim at least have a chance at surviving.

I try to catch my breath, but it only brings forth a new batch of tears. I know Gale must think I'm being ridiculous for crying so hysterically over a dream, but I can't bring myself to care. I feel guilty and dirty; as if I need to wash Peeta's blood off of my hands. I should have stood up to them. I shouldn't have let them turn me into a monster.

_It wasn't real_, I remind myself, _not real_, _not real, not real_….

I'm taken by surprise when Gale wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. It's a bit awkward and unexpected, but I don't fight it. Instead, I continue to sob into his chest even harder than before, taking his comfort as a sign that he understands my distress.

"Hey, it's okay, Kat. It was just a bad dream," he whispers groggily and begins to slowly rock me back and forth.

"I… I'm sorry," I hiccup, "Peeta… he… I _killed _him. Snow and Coin… made me. God he's so stupid… _why_? Why did… he _do_ this…" I babble incoherently. I know I'm not making an ounce of sense to him, but I can't seem to catch my breath to even think about what I'm trying to say.

"You're alright," he repeats. "It was only a dream."

"Not… not if he keeps this up! He's going to… get us all _killed_," I reply in between gulps of air. I bring a hand up to wipe the tears from my face, but fresh ones take their place just as quickly. "He's… he's going to fuck up somehow! I know it. He doesn't…" I take in a deep breath and pull back from Gale as he drops his arm from my shoulders. "He doesn't have _any idea_… what he's getting himself into! I just have a bad feeling he's going to…" I bite my lip and shake my head to will away the horrific images of the dream. "He's going to _die_, and it's going to be _all my fault_!"

"Katniss—" Gale starts to counter, but I cut him off before he can.

"You were right!" I turn to him, my hands trembling and my heart beating rapidly. My voice is at least starting to even out again as my breathing comes back to normal. "I _was_ being selfish by dating him. We're all going to die, and it's all my damn fault! I shouldn't have gotten him involved. I shouldn't have said anything. I just wish he'd forget _all _of this!" I sniffle and close my eyes before whispering, "I just wish he'd forget about _me_."

"Kat…" Gale sighs heavily, "I think you're wrong about me being right." I open my eyes, narrowing them at him in question. He shrugs and looks away. "The guy obviously cares about you if he's willing to put his neck out there like this, and I'm sure he's thought of the consequences. It doesn't sound to me like he came up with this plan overnight." He looks back at me with a frown and raises his eyebrows, "And you're not selfish, okay? I'm an asshole for even saying that and assuming the shit I did."

I'm speechless for a moment as I stare back at Gale, and though my breathing has come back to normal and I'm not making any sound, tears still pour from my eyes and down my cheeks. I can't help but wonder about what he just said, that Peeta's plan to take Coin down didn't come about overnight. It wasn't brought on by the event of Snow kicking me in the ribs and having to stay at his house… it couldn't have been. He had to have been planning everything prior to that, which means he's been lying to me for a while now.

"It doesn't matter," I manage to finally say. "We're not together anymore. I broke up with him."

"Because of what he did for you?" Gale asks with a raised eyebrow. I nod and he just shakes his head as if he disapproves.

"Don't judge me!" I tell him defensively.

"I'm _not_ judging you," he replies with a yawn. "I just hope you're breaking up with him for the right reasons."

"And what sort of reasons would be _right enough_ for you?" I ask indignantly with a roll of my eyes.

"Him treating you bad, taking advantage of you," Gale shrugs and lies back down before adding with a protective edge, "_Has_ he?"

"No, he hasn't. He's been great up until now," I answer honestly. "But that's not the point. He promised he wouldn't tell anyone, and he _did_! He betrayed my trust and went behind my back—"

"Did you _make _him promise, though?"

I shrug a shoulder and remain silent. It's obvious that Gale has decided to take Peeta's side in this, just like Prim, and any way I answer I'll just come out looking like the bad guy.

"It doesn't matter. A promise is a promise," I retort briskly.

"No offense, Kat, but you're stubborn as a mule, and if this guy knows you half as well as I do, he probably counted on you telling him _not _to do anything."

"And that somehow makes it_ okay _to lie to me?"

"No, but I can kind of understand his reasons for it."

"Whatever, Gale. Way to be my friend and take my side. I thought you, of _all_ people, would understand," I snap, feeling beyond agitated as I hastily lie down with my back facing him. "Let's just go back to sleep."

"Again, I'm _not_ taking his side, Katniss. But if what he's doing might result in Coin and Snow and their little buddies getting a fucking wakeup call, I'm all for it. Bread boy's way might be extreme, but it's sure as hell going to get _something_ done."

"Yeah, it's going to get us all killed," I mutter as I pull the covers up to my shoulders.

* * *

The next morning, Gale and I wake with a sort of unspoken agreement not to discuss anything that had happened the previous night; not that we really have a chance to speak at all. He'd overslept and was in a frantic rush to get ready for work. I occupied myself with waking Prim, who's still just as angry with me as she was before. As soon as she opened her eyes and saw me, her face transformed into a deep scowl. It seems she's decided to give me the silent treatment, too, because she doesn't say a word to me.

The short distance from Gale's house to the trailer is tense and silent. I can tell that Prim is upset and worried about what to expect when we get home, and so am I. I know that there isn't any other alternative to it, though, and staying away any longer than we have will only cause Snow to become suspicious and paranoid. I'm sure just the couple days we've been away have him climbing the walls as it is. Besides, Mom needs to be fed and changed, too. I dread the thought of lifting her even slightly with my ribs the way they are, but I know no one else can or will.

I'm relieved to see that Snow's truck is gone, and it's a small comfort knowing we won't be greeted with hostility as soon as we walk in the front door. It's storming this morning, and we wouldn't be able to hide outside to escape his wrath.

Gale gives me a pitying look after he parks, and tells me to take care of myself in a meaningful tone. I say nothing in return because what more is there to say? I just shrug and nod with a frown on my face before opening the door and getting out. It's downpouring at the moment, so Prim and I run as fast as we can to the trailer without looking back. I did notice that the toilet bucket was still in the yard, though, which means it's possible that Snow left soon after we did. He might not even know we'd been gone for as long as we have.

Even though Prim and I ran as fast as we could, we're completely drenched by the time we get inside.

"At least the buckets will be full when all this is over," I remark casually as I wring my hair out, momentarily thankful that I won't have to carry any water from the well for a while.

Prim purses her lips and nods, but still refuses to speak to me. I sigh and roll my eyes.

"You can knock it off, Prim," I snap. "I did what I had to do."

"No you didn't!" she retorts heatedly, shaking her head. "You didn't _have_ to break Peeta's heart like you did. You were_ so_ mean to him, Katniss, and he's done _nothing_ but treat you good."

"For one thing, you have no idea _why_ I broke up with him," I counter.

"Why then?" Prim raises her eyebrows in challenge and places her hands on her hips.

"Why should I even tell you?" I retort defensively. "You'll just take his side anyway since you think he's _perfect_."

"I don't think _anyone's_ perfect," Prim answers, placing the plastic bag full of clothes and the bear that Peeta had bought her down on the floor and pulling out something dry to wear. She glances up at me in a disappointed way and shrugs, "I _do_ think he's perfect for _you_, though, and I think you're an idiot for not realizing that. If you break up with him for good, you're going to regret it because he's a great guy and he really loves you."

"Yeah? Well, love doesn't mean very much when he's going to get us killed because he can't keep his big mouth shut," I bitterly respond as I walk over to the kitchen counter and pour some water out of an old milk jug into a mug. I turn back to Prim, who is staring at me with narrowed, disapproving eyes and blurt a bit heatedly, "You want to know what he did? He called the FBI, even hired a private investigator, to try to get Coin arrested. Do you know what Snow will do if that happens, or if he finds out about any of it?"

Prim's eyes widen and her mouth drops open in disbelief. For a moment, she seems frightened at the thought of what might happen, but then she averts her eyes and shrugs as if rejecting any bad thoughts.

"He's only trying to help," she replies quietly. "The way it's looking, Snow's going to kill you soon anyway, Katniss. He's only getting worse lately, and it's not going to get any better. At least if Coin gets arrested or whatever, Snow won't be able to use him against us anymore. We could leave here without worrying so much."

"I know he _thinks_ he's trying to help, but he should have told me first. He shouldn't have lied to me. Maybe, by some chance, this will turn out for the greater good—if so, _awesome_! But there's a bigger chance that it won't. I'm not really worried if _I_ get killed… I'm worried about _you_!"

"Well, _I'm_ not worried about _me_, I'm worried about _you_! You're _not _the only one who's allowed to worry about someone," Prim counters indignantly. "Besides, what do you think will happen to me if he kills you? He'll kill me too, just so I don't tell anyone. Peeta's taking a huge chance, yeah, but it _might _work. And I _know _he'll be there for us if things get bad. Without him, we don't really have any hope of ever getting out of here."

I know that what she's saying holds some truth, but at the same time all I can think of is that it can't quite be that easy. Something _will_ go wrong. Snow or Coin will find out and I know _at least_ one of us will die over this, if not _all_ of us. Prim, Mom, Peeta… they'll kill everyone I love if they can; more than likely force me to watch or attempt to make me help when they do it, too. Just like in the dream. I'd refuse, of course; nothing they could threaten me with would ever compel me to torture someone else. Besides, I know that if it ever got to that point, they'd eventually kill all of us anyway. There's no chance they'd risk letting one of us go.

I grab the mug of water and start to walk towards the hall that leads to Mom. I'm sure she's majorly dehydrated from not drinking anything in a few days, and even if I hurt like hell, I'm not going to let her die at my hands.

"I have to take care of Mom right now," I say dismissively. "We'll talk about all this later."

"Fine," Prim answers. "There isn't much to talk about, though. I understand why you're mad, but I still think you shouldn't have broken up with him."

"And I still disagree with you," I mutter as I begin to make my way to Mom's room.

As soon as her bed comes into view, however, I notice she isn't there. I squint my eyes in confusion and feel panic rise up within me as I run into her room. I look around frantically, beside the bed and under it, in the corners, inside the closet… but she's nowhere to be found.

"Mom?" I holler out, my heart beating like a drum against my chest. "_Mom_!"

"What's going on?" Prim asks with wide, concerned eyes as she appears in the doorway. I don't answer because I can't seem to even formulate a response. At the moment, I can't even breathe. My mind is racing in a million different directions as to Mom's whereabouts, but my first and foremost fear is that she's dead, and that Snow's probably disposing of her body right now.

In an instant, bile pushes its way up my throat and tears flood my eyes. I make my way around Prim and, in a frenzied rush, check every room or space Mom could be in. However, I still don't find her anywhere. I scream out her name, but I'm only greeted with deafening silence. Prim follows suit, checking every space in the trailer that she could possibly be, and yelling for her with just as much trepidation as I do.

I finally open the front door and try to focus through the heavy sheet of rain coming down, but I don't see her anywhere near the house. At least not from where I'm standing. It's a longshot and mostly hopeless, but I dart out into the rain to look for her. Even if it's extremely rare that it happens, she _has_ wandered from the house a few times over the years. Never in the rain, though, and she never went far past the front porch. Still, there's a first time for everything.

I call out for her, but I'm drowned out by the rain and thunder. My drenched clothes cling to my body as I run around the trailer, frantically searching for her with quickly increasing desperation. When I'm back to my starting point, I stop and look around at the many abandoned, blown up cars that litter the premise, realizing she could be in one, or hiding between or underneath one of them. Without pausing to think about it, I run through the maze of Snow's discarded toys, searching around every corner, in every crevice, and yelling her name as loudly as I can.

However, I still don't find her.

I stop again and strain my eyes as I gaze around me in all directions, feeling any remaining thoughts or feelings of hope evaporate. I'm in excruciating pain from my ribs, and my lungs burn from the sudden overexertion and briskness of the air. Tears stream down my face, but they're indistinguishable from the rain that's coming down in torrents. I'm about to give up and go back into the trailer… until I see her.

Up ahead, a good fifty feet in the field, next to the edge of the woods, I see my mother huddled, and what appears to be naked, lying on the ground.

"Mom!" I call out to her as I quickly close the gap between us.

When I reach her, I fall to the ground on my knees and lift her head from the ground. She's limp in my hands at first, which causes a quick pang of terror in my chest, but then she weakly opens her eyes. I pull her into a hug and sob into her hair as I hold her trembling body to my chest. "Don't ever leave the house!" I tell her strongly, feeling relieved that I'd found her and that she's not being disposed of by Snow after all. I know she can't really understand me, but I can't think of what else to say or do. All I know is that I don't want this to ever happen again.

Although things seem to have turned out okay this time, a ton of _what ifs_ still haunt my mind. What if she had wandered farther? If she had made it into the woods, I may never have found her until it was too late. Winter's coming up, too. What if this was snow instead of rain? She seems to have been out here for a while, and she would surely have froze to death. This has more than a possibility of happening again too, since I'll be gone the whole day, evening, and night with school and the bakery. I would have never found her all the way out here in the dark of night.

I feel her bony fingers wrap around my arms as I pull back to look at her. I shake my head as she gives me an empty smile and says in a hoarse sing-song voice, "I _found_ you!"

Despite the stabbing pain it causes me, I manage to get her to the trailer on my own. Prim quickly rushes to aid without question, retrieving clothes and an extra blanket as I lay her back into bed.

As I feed and hydrate my mother, I can't help but wonder why she was out there nude in the first place. Was she running away from Snow or was she really trying to find me and Prim? It's true that we've never stayed away from home for very long, and maybe on some subconscious level, she was worried about us. Or maybe I'm just being silly, sentimental, and overly optimistic, and she's simply out of her mind and wandered away without any rhyme or reason.

The answer lies with her, and she's not telling.

* * *

The next morning is Monday, and I wake with an overwhelming feeling of dread in my stomach. I'll have to interact and work with Peeta today, and I'm not quite sure what to expect.

My body radiates with pain everywhere since I didn't take a painkiller last night before bed. I decided I'd rather deal with the pain than deal with the nightmares. I still had a couple bad dreams, but not as vivid or as horrific as the ones I've had recently, and as soon as I woke up, they quickly vanished from my memory.

After the scare with my mom yesterday, I'm nervous about leaving her alone when I go to school. Thankfully Snow never came home last night, so I don't have to worry about him mistreating her. I assume he's out getting high with the money I'd given him from my paycheck, not that I'm ever completely sure what he does when he leaves here. We don't give each other friendly details of what we do when we're away from each other, after all. He seems to be gone more than he's at home here lately, and I'm not complaining one bit. I consider that money well spent.

When Prim and I are dressed and ready for school, we make our way to the bus stop. I purposefully take as long as I can, much to Prim's dismay, just to miss Peeta. I'd rather take the bus than have to face him this early in the morning. However, when we reach the end of the driveway, I see Peeta's car parked and waiting on us. I close my eyes and sigh heavily; I should have known he'd do this. Even if he's mad at me, he would never take it out on Prim, and he knows how much she loves the rides he gives us in the mornings.

Prim runs ahead of me and doesn't even hesitate before opening the door and sitting in the backseat. I, however, stand still and wave my hand for them to go on without me. Peeta frowns and shakes his head as he rolls down the passenger-side window.

"Katniss, I know you're mad at me still, but _please_ get in the car?"

I shake my head and look away from him, "I'm fine with the bus, thanks."

"I can't _believe _you're being like this," he replies with a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe _a lot_ of things about you," I answer loftily.

"Katniss, come _on_. Stop being stupid!" Prim calls out to me, and I can tell from her tone that she's aggravated by my refusal to accept Peeta's ride.

I say nothing in return and choose to continue staring at the ground. It's much easier than looking at him and feeling both guilty and resentful. And weak. Because I know if I stare too long into his eyes, I'll forget why I'm mad at him in the first place. It's already hard enough just listening to his wistful, earnest voice without wanting to hug him and tell him I forgive him for everything. But I don't, I _can't_ forgive him and let him think this is all okay. It isn't. No matter what good intentions he might have.

"Fine. Whatever. Suit yourself. I'll see you at school," Peeta replies in an obviously hurt voice before driving off. As I watch the car disappear down the gravel road, my eyes fill with tears and I can't hold them back. I hate this situation. I hate everything about it.

I don't like making Peeta angry with me or breaking his heart, but I know if I let my guard down, he'll think I want to get back together with him. I'm not sure what I want, honestly. I _do_ want to be with him, but under different circumstances; circumstances where being with him won't get everyone killed. Right now I don't even want to look at him, let alone kiss him. I can't help thinking about how everything was going so great between us. I know Prim was right about what she said yesterday, too. He _is_ perfect for me… or _was_. I already know I'll never find another guy who will ever treat me as well, or who I'll feel as comfortable with as I do with him. I don't want to, either. After getting this close and trusting him, only for him to stab me in the back, I never want to open myself up to anyone else again.

Why did he have to mess everything up?

* * *

When I get to school, I take my time getting the books out of my locker, making sure to enter first hour right before the bell rings so Peeta can't sit next to me. However, when I enter the classroom, I see that our desk is empty. I immediately feel a pang of worry shoot through me. What if he and Prim were in an accident or something?

I ignore the giggles and ignorant questions about my bruised face from fellow classmates as I sit down in my regular seat, my mind reeling. I pluck up my courage and gaze around the room to see if Peeta is maybe sitting somewhere else.

My heart stops when I see that he is.

His face is stony and void of emotion as he stares avidly down at his textbook, as if deeply engrossed in reading it, and it seems he's purposefully avoiding looking in my direction. I see the girl he's sitting next to, a pretty blond haired girl named Marion, who I used to be friends with when I was younger, ask him a question with a flirtatious half-smile on her face. He gives her a short answer and shrugs before looking back down at his book. She catches my eye and raises an eyebrow before leaning closer to him and talking again. This time, he sits back in his chair and gives her his full attention as he speaks back to her. I wish I could hear what they're saying, but it's drowned out by the chatter of other classmates.

I suddenly feel physically sick, my head hurts, my hands tremble, and it's as if I'm going to throw up. I can't stand seeing him sit there, talking so animatedly to another girl, and acting as if I don't exist—as if I _never _existed to him. He doesn't even once look in my direction. It's as if he's trying to get back at me by making me jealous.

Well, it's _not_ going to work.

I turn my head sharply, tears burning my eyes, and decide to play his game with equal fervor.

I don't look in his direction for the remainder of class.

* * *

The rest of the day goes on in this way.

We don't say anything to each other and we don't sit next to each other, either. For lunch, I hide out in the library. In class, I don't even look in his direction.

I feel like I'm in a fog.

I don't want to think about him, don't want to feel or care as much as I do, but I can't help it. I can't concentrate on anything else. The whole world seems like background noise to my thoughts, and my thoughts are all about him.

In between classes, I find a bathroom stall to cry in, just to let some of the anguish and sorrow out in some way. I know it's weak of me to do, and it's a bit pointless, but it feels as if each tear is a worry or a bad thought being purged from my body. The comfort doesn't last long, though, because just as soon as the tears stop falling and are wiped away, I return to class, more horrible thoughts fill my head again, and I'm back to where I started.

At the end of last hour, he walks past my desk and asks flatly, "Still coming to work?"

"Still giving me a ride?" I counter without looking up at him.

"Yeah."

"Then yes. I guess I am."

"Good," he replies. "I'll meet you in the car."

When I finally do make my way to his car and sit in the front seat, it feels extremely uncomfortable. I don't know what to say and, evidently, neither does he. The tension between us is palpable. I stare fixedly out the window as he sighs heavily, starts the car, and begins to back up.

"Nice to see you decided to sit by me again," he remarks.

"Really?" I find myself asking icily. "Sure you wouldn't rather have _Marion_ sitting by you instead?"

"I only sat by her in first hour because there weren't any other seats open."

"_Besides _the one by me?"

"I was giving you space. That's what you wanted, right? You made it extremely apparent this morning," Peeta answers with an agitated edge to his voice. "Besides, I only _sat_ by another girl. At least I didn't _sleep_ in a bed with her."

He looks over at me pointedly, raising his eyebrows.

"Was that supposed to be a jab about me sleeping at Gale's?" I ask with an annoyed snort and a roll of my eyes. "Give me a break."

"Yeah, because I have absolutely _no right_ to get pissed about my girlfriend sleeping in another guy's bed," he retorts with a shaky, hollow laugh.

"I'm _not_ your girlfriend anymore."

"I know," he answers shortly. I notice he won't look at me, and his hands are trembling slightly on the steering wheel. "You've made that pretty clear."

And again we fall into silence.

* * *

The silence between us continues from the whole ride from the high school to picking up Prim, and from there to the bakery. Prim and Peeta talk to each other, though, almost as if I'm not even there. He asks how her day was, and she replies that it was long. She then tells him in a sad voice that she wishes we weren't fighting with each other, and he gives a curt nod of his head. He doesn't say anything, or even agree with her though. I don't say anything either.

When we get to the bakery, I do my best to avoid Mr. Mellark. My face isn't swollen as badly now, but it's still bruised, and I don't want him to ask any questions about it. Luckily he's speaking with a customer in the dining area and I'm able to slip into the backroom, retrieve my uniform, and change in the bathroom without him seeing me. I take the opportunity to look at my ribs in the mirror, and I'm relieved to see that, like my face, the swelling has gone down quite a bit, and there doesn't seem to be anything sticking out that shouldn't be. It's still too early to tell if I broke anything or if it's just badly bruised, though. By the time I exit, I see that Mr. Mellark is gone. I'm relieved, yet anxious because now I'm fully alone with Peeta.

Feeling nauseous and shaky, I make my way to the backroom again, and find him already standing at the counter, mixing something. As soon as he senses my presence, he glances up at me sadly and frowns.

"Hey," he mutters without any enthusiasm.

I don't say anything, just nod my greeting, and look at him questioningly, waiting for him to give me something to do.

"You can chop some fruit. We need apples and peaches. Just cut them the way I showed you before," he tells me in a formal manner as he looks down and continues to mix whatever's in the bowl. "You know where everything is."

I do as I'm told, and as I start chopping into the apples, he walks into the storefront without a word. As soon as he's out of view, my lips start to quiver and my eyes begin to water. I quickly wipe at them and purse my lips, trying to keep a strong demeanor and continue on as if I don't care.

But I _do_ care.

I care way too much, in fact.

I know Peeta is technically my boss, but I'm not used to him being so bossy. Nor am I used to him being so cold and dismissive with me. I'd rather him yell at me, tell me how horrible of a person I am, rather than acting as indifferent as he is and not saying anything at all.

About an hour and a half passes, and he still hasn't come to the backroom again at all. I can't help but wonder what he's doing out there, and if he's intentionally trying to avoid me. I wouldn't blame him, with things being as awkward and tense between us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.

It wasn't as bad when I was angry and he still wanted me, because it didn't seem so _over_ between us. But now that he's equally as angry as I am, and as avoidant, it's hitting me that, yes, it's officially over between us. He's finally gotten sick and tired of me. This is how it ends; with silence, pain, and apathetic acceptance.

I glance over at the countertop, where just a few days ago, he'd sat me on, kissed me sweetly, and fed me blackberry crème; where I'd gotten brave enough to touch him intimately for the first time.

Then I think about our wonderful first date; how he'd made me a small feast, how we'd watched my favorite movie, how we'd shared our childhood memories, how our bodies had moved together, and how I'd let him see, touch, and taste my breasts. I remember how fearful I was that he'd judge my many scars and think I was ugly, but he'd only kissed them one by one, as if to heal me, and told me it wasn't my fault. And for the first time in my life, I actually felt desirable. I felt… _beautiful_.

My mind then wanders to our lunchtime escapes, how we'd go to our secret, special place by the lake, how we'd eat lunch, and spend the remainder of our break kissing each other and letting our hands roam the contours of each other's bodies….

And it's strange how these amazing, delicious memories now leave a bad taste in my mouth, and make me feel absolutely awful.

_It's over,_ I tell myself, _those things will never happen again between us. You'll never feel that hopeful or alive ever again._

I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and eyes before taking a deep breath to regain my composure. This is silly. I have every right to be angry with him. He went behind my back, broke a promise, and put me and my family's life in danger. _He _betrayed _me. _So why is he treating me like this? Like _I_ betrayed _him_? And why do I feel so guilty about it?

I suddenly feel very indignant. I stop cutting the peaches in front of me and make my way to the door with the intention of confronting him. Being silent, moody, and avoidant with each other isn't doing either of us any favors. We need to talk. We need to understand each other. Otherwise this working together thing will never succeed without continuing to be outright torturous.

When I start to open the door, however, I pause and leave it open just a crack to peek out. Peeta has a huge smile on his face and is laughing with a woman who looks to be around our age. She has short blond hair and piercing, light blue eyes. She's petite in stature, but curvaceous in the right places. I've never seen her before, though, and I'm certain she doesn't go to our school. I can't help thinking, very bitterly, that she looks exactly like the type of woman Peeta should be with. I have no trouble imagining them being together, loving each other, having adorable blond haired children….

She wraps her arms around Peeta's waist and gives him a small peck on the cheek, and he returns her hug without the slightest hesitation. He seems totally at ease with her, and it's as if he knows her already. Maybe he _does_. Maybe he was simply passing time with me, but really wanted to be with her all along. Or maybe he's already trying to move on to something better. I knew it was only a matter of time anyway. I don't know why I feel like my heart is shattering into a million pieces or why my stomach is in knots; I should have _expected_ this. We're not dating anymore. I broke up with him.

This would have happened eventually.

I close the door and go back to chopping peaches with a little more fervor than before.

I purse my lips and keep my eyes down when he finally comes back, my face reddening as I try to keep tears from clouding my eyes. I will _not_ let myself cry over this.

"Sorry I took so long," he says, coming over to the counter where I'm cutting fruit. He picks up two covered bowls of apples and brings them to the refrigerator. "Got busy up front for a little bit."

"Yeah, I saw just how _busy_ you were," I reply sarcastically with a roll of my eyes. "I'm sure it was really hard on you."

I notice him stop suddenly from the corner of my eye, but he doesn't say anything. Curious, I look over to see him rub his eyes before letting out an exasperated sigh and asking, "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"She's_ very_ beautiful, Peeta," I mutter with narrowed eyes. "You two seemed really chummy. Way to rebound quickly."

"What…?" he asks in genuine confusion, but I merely avert my eyes and chop into a peach. He seems almost disgusted when he asks, "You mean _Madge_?"

I look up with a bitter smile, "How would I know her name? You didn't introduce me. Then again, why would you?"

"She only stopped by for a few minutes, and I haven't seen her in a little over a year, Katniss! Pardon me if the first thought in my head wasn't to introduce her to you, especially since you seem to hate my guts right now," Peeta replies indignantly. He's silent for a moment before adding in a disbelieving tone, "Don't tell me you're _jealous_."

"I _won't_ tell you that," I snap as I cut into a peach a little more powerfully than intended, "because I'm _not_. I'm just observing."

"Good. I'm glad you're _totally _not jealous," Peeta counters dubiously. "Because that would be weird since Madge is my _cousin_. She just moved back into town over the weekend. I'll make sure to introduce you two the next time she stops by, okay? Since it obviously means so much to you."

I immediately feel embarrassed. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Now that I think about it, there was definitely a resemblance between the two of them.

I'm _such _an idiot.

I say nothing, and only give a small nod. What else is there for me to say? I think I've already done enough damage with my words as it is.

The rest of the night drags on with the same unbearable silence between us, and I realize just how difficult it's going to be, being around Peeta and not being his girlfriend anymore. Just today alone, I already got upset twice at the mere sight and thought of him being with someone else, and both were totally innocent interactions on his part. What am I going to do when he actually _does _move on and finds a new girlfriend? I'm not so naïve to expect he won't. Peeta's a great catch and it's only a matter of time before someone else hooks and reels him in. And I'm sure when that happens, my job at the bakery will end. Not because he'll fire me, but because I won't be able to handle witnessing Peeta fall in love with someone else.

At closing time, Peeta has me do all the simple clean up procedures such as cleaning tables and countertops, loading the dishwasher, putting ingredients back in their rightful spot, and tossing expired baked goods; things that aren't strenuous and are less likely to cause my ribs any discomfort. I offer to help with some of the other things like sweeping and mopping and taking out the trash, but he hears nothing of it. It's a sort of strange relief to know that despite how aggravated he is with me, he still cares enough to not purposefully cause me any pain.

When he drives us home, I sit next to him instead of the backseat, and he seems to take this as a peace offering of sorts. He gives me a small, wistful smile as he starts the car, but he doesn't say anything. I don't know whether to smile or frown back at him, or whether I forgive him or not, so I just bite my lip and turn to look out the window. Prim asks if we're back together and he answers, 'unfortunately, no,' and it makes me a little hopeful to know he hasn't written us off entirely yet.

It causes me to think, though.

If I'm happy that _he _hasn't written us off, it means _I_ haven't entirely written us off either.

And when he drops us off midway down the driveway, I realize I _may_ have made a mistake by breaking up with him so hastily.

He should have never done what he had, but he can't take it back. I don't know how I can take back what I'd said and done, either. I know that, despite everything, he had good intentions and was only trying to help me, and I hurt him by reacting in the worst possible way. I felt like he betrayed me, and maybe he _did_ and that still hurts, but I also broke his heart and pretty much indicated he meant nothing to me all along. It isn't true, but it makes no difference. I also know that even if we got back together after all this, things will never be the same. We will always have a little black cloud hovering between us over this.

I don't know if things _can _be fixed.

I don't know how to fix _us_.

I don't know if I want to.

* * *

Tuesday is a little better, even if it's still agonizing.

My ribs seem to hurt a bit less than they have and the swelling has gone down even more. When I take the painkiller, I can barely even feel them ache.

I'd had bad dreams all night about Peeta and some faceless blond woman having adorable children, of him being happy and proud as he taught them how to decorate a cake. And all I could do was watch from a distance, unable to utter a word as I witnessed longingly what I'd given up.

But_ am_ I giving that up? Is that what I _want_? Or do I just want it because_ he_ wants it, and I don't want it to be with someone else?

All I know is that I can't stop thinking about it.

Peeta picks us up in the morning, and I don't hesitate to sit in the front seat.

"Good morning beautiful," he says quietly after I close the door.

My heartbeat quickens at being put on the spot by his unexpected sweetness; after the way he was acting yesterday, I never thought I'd be a recipient of it again. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before I remember I'm supposed to be angry with him, and I glance away with a sigh. I _knew_ this would happen. I'm becoming weak to his charm. I say nothing in return, but spend the car ride staring out the window in pensive silence.

I'm confused and conflicted about everything.

After we drop Prim off at the elementary school, and we're parked outside the high school, Peeta turns to me and hesitates before saying anything, but I can tell something is weighing heavily on his mind. I raise my eyebrows for him to say whatever he needs to say. He scratches his head and closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I shouldn't have been so harsh yesterday. I was just feeling aggravated. I…" he trails off and shrugs as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "I don't want us to become enemies. I don't want to lose you from my life. I know you don't want to date me anymore, but can we at least be _friends_? Please?"

I stare at him for a moment, my mind full of questions and arguments, before slowly nodding my agreement.

"Yeah," I speak for the first time this morning. "I'd like that."

"Will you please sit by me in class?" he asks, searching my face earnestly. He gives a small smile and adds, "You're the _only_ girl I want to sit by."

I nod again, but I don't say anything.

And even though we sit by each other throughout the day, things still feel awkward between us. I'm not sure how to act or what to say, so I don't say anything. He attempts conversation, small talk mostly, and I nod, shrug, or shake my head without a word.

I don't want to lose him, and I don't want things to become toxic between us, but I don't fully forgive him yet either. I have to keep reminding myself not to be so weak when it comes to him, because he might ultimately bring the death of someone I love by what he's done. I can't let him think it's okay, because it's not. Things can't just go back to the way they were before.

I'll be civil, but I won't be stupid.

I hide out in the library at lunch, and though it isn't as frequent as it was yesterday, I still find myself in a bathroom stall crying a couple times throughout the day.

At work, things are a lot less uncomfortable than they were the day before. Then again, we stay pretty busy throughout the evening and don't really have time to talk or reflect on anything. I run the cash register, and have to keep explaining to customers how I got the bruise on my face when they voice their concern. I tell them that I was on a four-wheeler and drove into a branch, before I abruptly change the subject.

Later that night, Peeta works on decorating some commissioned cakes, and leaves me to do some of the easier baking and decorating, such as cupcakes and cookies. He also has me answer to customers when the bell rings upfront, since it's hard for him to break his concentration when he's working on a piece.

It's about eight o'clock when I greet a customer that looks wildly out of place standing in a bakery. He's a middle-aged man with unkempt curly dark hair, a scruffy unshaven face, and tired gray eyes. As I approach, he grabs a muffin from the counter and takes a huge bite out if it without hesitation. I'm taken aback by his abrasiveness, but I still step forward and clear my throat.

"May I help you?"

He nods his head and cocks an eyebrow before asking in a deep, serious tone, "There a Peeta Mellark here?"

He takes another huge bite of the muffin and, before he even finishes eating all of it, grabs another.

"Maybe," I reply suspiciously, eyeing him with a frown. Something doesn't feel right about this. What would this man want with Peeta? Although I know I should just go get him, curiosity takes over. "He's kind of busy at the moment. Why do you need to talk to him?"

"It's confidential business," he mutters dubiously. "Tell him that Haymitch Abernathy's here. He'll know what it means."

I narrow my eyes as realization dawns on me. My heart beats faster and my hands start to shake as adrenaline kicks in.

"Are you the private investigator?" I ask accusingly.

He sighs as if he's getting annoyed by my questions and raises his eyebrows.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be very _private_, now would it?" he states monotonously as he finishes off his second muffin and goes for a doughnut.

"You have no _idea_ what you're messing with," I tell him defiantly as I cross my arms.

"Oh, I think I _do_," he counters before giving me a sarcastic grin, "But it's absolutely _darling_ of you to warn me."

"You _do_ have to pay for that, you know," I haughtily inform, feeling thoroughly annoyed with his condescending attitude as he takes a gigantic bite out of a doughnut and chews loudly.

"Nope. It's part of the deal. All the baked goods a guy could want. Heard your rum cake is to die for."

"Yeah, nice choice of words," I retort. "I hope you know you're going to get us all killed."

He stares at me blankly for a moment as he chews; I avert my eyes and try to calm myself down before I say or do something I might regret later. Right now, all I want to do is take the tray of doughnuts he's so happily devouring and throw them at his head. That probably wouldn't be very good for business, though.

"I'm sensing some hostility from you, sweetheart," he finally says, a false look of concern on his face. He places a hand over his heart and frowns dramatically. "And frankly, I'm a _little_ stung."

"_Don't _call me _sweetheart_," I snap. "Anyway, if I were you, I'd walk away right now. This town is nothing but corruption and I assure you you're really going to regret taking on this case."

"_Corruption_? Sounds _scary_. Working twenty-three years as a P.I., I've _never _had to deal with that sort of thing ever," he answers sarcastically. He runs a hand through his hair and gives me a patronizing look, "I know how to do my job, _sweetheart_."

I snort and shake my head.

"Thanks for confirming your profession with me; a person you just met and have no idea whether or not to trust yet," I point out in an overly saccharine tone. "My confidence in your abilities is through the roof, let me tell you."

He takes a bite out of the doughnut again before looking down at it in contemplation. He then glances up at me with a questioning look on his face. "These doughnuts are delicious, is that Bavarian cream in the middle?"

"_I'm serious_," I mutter through gritted teeth and pursed lips.

"You gonna pay me to walk away?" he asks casually with an arched eyebrow.

"No," I sneer.

"Then go get Peeta Mellark," he tells me impatiently. "Time is money, honey, and you're not worth it right now."

Luckily, Peeta steps up behind me at that moment and I don't get to say what I really want to, which definitely wouldn't have been good for business.

"Is there a problem?" he asks.

"Yeah," the man who refers to himself as Haymitch answers. "Your coworker needs to learn some social skills when it comes to interacting with customers. She's very rude."

"You're not a _customer_!" I shoot back, my hands shaking with adrenaline. I turn abruptly to Peeta, who only looks at me with wide, alarmed eyes, "He's your poor excuse for a _private investigator_. I can't _believe_ you're still going through with this!"

"Katniss, can we talk about this later?" Peeta asks me quietly, looking nervous as he rubs his neck.

"What's there to talk about?" I say with a disgusted shake of my head. "You're either hiring this asshole, or you're not."

He bites his lip and glances away with knitted eyebrows, and from the look on his face I know he's already made his decision. And it's _not_ the one I wanted him to make. I throw my hands up and with a final 'whatever,' as I hastily make my way to the backroom. I lean against the countertop and close my eyes, breathing heavily as I try to calm myself down. At the moment, I just want to walk out of here and never look back.

It's disheartening to know that, despite how much Peeta's aware that it hurts that he betrayed me and no matter how much I disapprove, he's _still _going through with everything as if my opinion doesn't matter. He hasn't listened to a word I've said.

Or he _has_, but he simply doesn't care.

Peeta doesn't return for about an hour, and when he does, it's apparent that we're back to where we started. He tries to explain to me why he's doing what he's doing, that he's trying to protect me and help, but I don't want to hear a word of it. I refuse to speak to him. He takes the hint and eventually stops talking to me as well, and we spend the rest of the night in silence once again.

Even when he drops us off that night, I still haven't uttered a word to him.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, Peeta picks us up as always, but I still don't speak to him.

He tries to initiate conversation with me, but I simply ignore him. What does it matter? It's obvious he doesn't care about what I have to say anyway.

Prim insists on pointing out how ridiculous I'm being, nevermind the fact that _she_ gave _me_ the silent treatment just a few days ago. However, I don't point out her hypocrisy because then I'd be breaking my vow of silence.

Peeta drives us to the bakery to eat something before school, prolonging the discomfort I have about being around him. It's a torturous thing, to be around someone you care so much for, and actually truly _want_ to be with, but they betray your trust, and disregard your feelings and opinions without so much as an apology. Really, the only reason I'm being halfway civil to him today, after the instance with the private investigator last night, is because I need my job.

Also, I'm _sick and tired_ of arguing.

We're only going in circles, it seems, and I know we'll never see eye to eye on this.

I just really miss the way things were before.

I miss kissing him. I miss the way his hands fit perfectly within mine. I miss his warm embrace and the sweet words he'd whisper into my ear. I miss the pleasant chills he'd give me. I miss the way he'd touch me and look at me as if I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And I miss _not_ missing him.

The swelling in my face and ribs has gone down almost completely, but the bruises still remain. I don't hurt half as badly as I did even a few days ago, though. In fact, I'd almost completely forgotten about the condition of my face, being so lost in my thoughts, that I'm taken by surprise when Mr. Mellark gives me a curious look and asks what happened. I tell him the limb story. He nods, but doesn't look like he buys it at all. Luckily, we have to leave then and I don't have to elaborate.

When we get to first hour, I decide to sit next to Peeta, but only because I don't feel like contending with anyone asking nosy questions about my face or why I'm not sitting with him. However, I avoid him until the end of the day, when we're in the car.

"Katniss," he sighs as I sit down in the front seat. "Please talk to me?"

I shake my head, biting my lip as I stare down at my lap.

"Please?"

I release a long breath and finally look at him.

"What do you want me to say, Peeta?" I ask dejectedly.

"Anything is better than nothing," he replies.

"Fine." I shrug as I lean back in the seat, cross my arms, and stare up at the roof. "I can't believe you actually went through with hiring an investigator, especially one as rude as he was. You totally disregarded what I thought and how I felt, you betrayed me, and now you think I'm just supposed to forgive you and say everything is okay. It's _not_, Peeta. This situation is far too serious, and it's way bigger than you and me. Besides the possibility of losing our lives, it's splitting us apart, and I hate it."

"I understand why you're mad, Katniss, I do. I know you're scared and you feel betrayed by what I did," Peeta answers softly, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it gently. I debate shrugging him away, but I don't because it feels too good. My body has been tense and aching, and just the slightest pressure from the palm of his hand resting on my shoulder feels like absolute bliss. "I just… I wish I could make you understand why this _needs_ to happen. You don't deserve the horrible shit you endure, and these people shouldn't get away with it. You can be _anything_, Katniss. Don't settle for _nothing_. Don't let anyone make you feel like you don't deserve happiness. I promise you, I'll stay with you through all of this and help you in any way I can. Just… please trust me. Things _will _get better."

"I wish I could believe you," I whisper in reply.

* * *

When we arrive at the bakery, Prim disappears upstairs to watch television—which Peeta had brought in while she was sick so she wouldn't feel as bored and lonely while we were working—and he busies himself with bringing in some huge sacks of flour from a truck.

I stand at the counter in the backroom, carelessly kneading some dough as I watch him in action.

He hefts two fifty pound bags up on his shoulders as if they're as light as air, and stacks them in a far corner. He wipes the sweat from his brow before lifting two more sacks, and doesn't seem to notice my eyes on him at all. I can't help being mesmerized at how strong he really is. I had wondered before where he'd gotten his muscles, and it seems my question has been answered. No matter how agitated I feel towards him, and regardless of how conflicted it makes me, I can't deny that I find him extremely sexy at the moment. In fact, under different circumstances, if we weren't at odds right now, I'd have a hard time not walking over to him, placing my hands under his shirt, and pulling him into a passionate kiss.

"Miss Katniss?"

I jump as if I've been caught doing something I shouldn't, and turn to Mr. Mellark like a deer caught in headlights."Yeah?"

"Can I speak to you?" he asks in a confidential tone. "In private?"

I look over at Peeta, who has stopped what he's doing and seems concerned as he gazes over at us, and then back at Mr. Mellark as I nod. I don't have a good feeling about this at all. My stomach is in knots, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

He leads me to a small office, and gestures for me to sit in one of the foldout chairs against the wall. I silently do what I'm told, my uneasiness increasing by the second. He sits adjacent to me, looking concerned as he seems to search for the right words to say what he needs to.

"There's no easy way to ask this," he starts, rubbing his forehead nervously. He lets out a deep breath and continues, "Can you tell me again how you got that bruise on your face?"

I shrug and stare at the floor, feeling frustrated at having to explain myself again. I already told him what happened this morning, it's not my fault if he didn't believe me.

"I told you, I was on a four-wheeler and a limb hit me in the face," I mutter a bit defensively.

He nods and closes his eyes as if my explanation pains him in some way.

"But we both _know _that isn't true, don't we?"

"Yes it _is,_" I counter shakily. Panic is rising within me and I feel like I'm being backed into a corner.

"I saw the bruises on Primrose's neck and arm," he continues with a wistful shake of his head. I say nothing. I just keep my mouth pursed and my eyes fixed on the floor. I don't know how to explain _her_ bruises in a believable way. With a contemplative look on his face, he continues almost as if he's thinking out loud rather than speaking to me, "I just… I _can't _understand _how_. The Iris I know, or _knew_, would never stand for someone hurting her children like this…."

I still don't speak, because anything I say will only make things worse. I can't afford for Mr. Mellark to get involved in all of this. Peeta is bad enough as it is. In fact, my gut instinct is telling me that Peeta is the one who brought all this to his dad's attention. He wanted to feel validated in what he did.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need to speak to your mother about this," he says, and at these words, I feel whatever composure I have evaporate from my body. "Do you know when a good time would be for me to stop by and see her, or she could come by here if that's more convenient—"

I stand up quickly, my trembling hands balled into fists, and before I can even stop myself, I blurt, "I think you should focus on your _own _son, and what goes on under your _own_ roof!" He looks at me with wide, surprised eyes, and it only fuels me to continue. "Your _wife_ has been abusing Peeta for _years_, sticking him with needles and, _hell_, even trying to _kill_ him with her SUV! Thankfully he only lost a_ leg_!"

"Peeta told you this?" he asks in a deadly calm voice, knitting his eyebrows together as if in deep thought.

I nod quickly and continue, "Just the other day, she came in and started smacking him around. She's _really_ cruel to him when she thinks no one else is watching."

"I… wasn't aware of any of this," he replies in a voice that's nearly a whisper. I suddenly feel horrible as I look at him. He looks crushed, angry, confused… I know I just opened a can of worms with the Mellarks that can't be closed again. "He never said anything to me…."

"He didn't want you to lose the bakery," I answer quietly, already feeling regretful and embarrassed at my outburst.

"Well, he should know better than that!" he states strongly, and it seems my words have hit him right in the gut. "This bakery is nothing. _Nothing._ When it comes to him! Priscilla and I have always had our problems, but I never imagined she'd take it out on the boys."

* * *

Before Mr. Mellark leaves for the night, he thanks me for telling him, but I know he's haunted by the sudden revelation of it all. He glances sadly at Peeta and says he'll see him at home later.

Peeta just nods dismissively in return, completely oblivious and distracted by his decorating.

And I feel sick.

I basically just threw him under the bus, and I don't doubt that he'll hate me when he finds out. I shouldn't have said anything. From the way Mr. Mellark had reacted, he's not going to sit idly by and not do anything about it, either.

Peeta asks what his dad wanted to talk to me about, and I just shrug and say he asked about my face. He seems genuinely surprised by this and asks what I said, and I reply that I told him what I told everyone else: _a limb hit me_. The fact that Peeta seems taken aback at his dad's questioning causes me to feel even guiltier. He obviously didn't know anything about it, which means he probably never said anything to him.

He frowns and asks nothing else as he gently pulls me into an embrace. I don't fight it, either. In fact, I circle my arms around his waist and rest my ear against his chest. For a moment, I simply close my eyes and take in the warmth I've been missing and the rhythm of his heartbeat. I feel like crying when I realize I'll have to pull away from him eventually, and after tonight, I will probably never feel his arms around me ever again. He rests his cheek on the top of my head and whispers, "Everything will be okay. I _promise_."

I want to tell him that he can't make a promise like that, because things are definitely _not_ going to be okay, but I remain silent. I've just betrayed him the same way he did me, if not worse. I fear Mr. Mellark, and by extension, Peeta, might lose the bakery because of this. Mrs. Mellark seems like she would react by causing as much devastation as she can for being confronted with such accusations.

If this is the last happy moment he has for a while, I don't want to ruin it.

I've already ruined enough.

I feel empty and lost when he finally pulls away and goes back to decorating the wedding cake he's been working on. We don't speak much to each other for the rest of the night. Peeta stays busy, concentrating on cake commissions; as for me, I have no idea what to say. I have too many things clouding my mind that it's impossible to focus on anything that's going on around me.

When he drops us off for the night, I feel anxious and nauseous. He has no idea what he's about to walk into. I have no doubt he'll hate me tomorrow, so I lean over quickly and kiss him on the cheek one last time.

"Thanks…" he whispers in surprise, his blue eyes lighting up with hope.

I nod slowly, my heart in my throat as it races a mile a minute, "You know I want what's best for you, too?"

He places a hand to my cheek and smiles wistfully.

"_You're_ what's best for me, Katniss."

It only makes me feel even guiltier.

I say nothing in return as I open the car door and catch up with Prim, who bombards me with questions for the rest of the night—none of which I come close to having any answers to.

* * *

The next morning, my fears are realized when Peeta doesn't pick us up for school.

When we get on the bus, Prim starts crying because she thinks something bad happened to him. She doesn't know anything about what I'd told Mr. Mellark the night before, because she still doesn't have any idea about Peeta's mom, or anything about his situation. I try to console her, but it's hard when I'm just as worried about him myself. I checked my phone this morning, and he hadn't even sent a text telling me anything. I send him a short text of 'you ok?' and keep checking periodically to see if he's messaged back, but he hasn't.

This worry turns to dread and panic when I get to first hour and he's nowhere to be seen.

I somehow make it through class without completely breaking down, but it takes all my strength to keep it together. My whole body is shaking and tears keep filling my eyes, which I have to continuously wipe away. I'm thankful that my desk is in the very back, and no one can see my distress. I can't concentrate on anything, I just keep thinking about Peeta and what's happened to him.

And how much he _hates_ me right now.

I don't blame him. I hate myself, too.

After class, I hide out in a bathroom stall and cry until I can't breathe. I don't go to my next two classes, either, because I know I wouldn't be able to make it without completely falling apart in front of everyone. I check my phone and see that he still hasn't sent a message back. I ask him again, 'is everything alright? Please text back?' and wait. And wait some more.

And still… no reply.

I sink a little deeper into despair.

Despite going into this relationship with the idea that it wouldn't last long, that he'd grow bored with me, and quickly realize his mistake, I never thought it'd end like this. I never would have imagined breaking Peeta's heart, or him doing the same to mine. When I told him it was never supposed to be this serious between us, I meant it; I never _intended _or expected it to grow into what it has.

I never thought I could feel so happy or alive.

I never believed I could be loved by a man, experience pleasure, or have a future worth fighting for.

I never dreamed I could want more than what I needed.

Now that I've lost everything, I realize how much I actually want it.

* * *

Peeta finally texts back by the end of the day, but it's a simple 'ride bus home, no work tonight' – no explanation, no elaboration on what's going on. I try to call him, but he doesn't answer. Still, I'm a little relieved that he's well enough to text, at least. But I feel like my world is shattering, realizing how angry he must be with me. And the fact that whatever happened was enough to close the bakery for a day makes me feel sick. This is all my fault. Mr. Mellark and Peeta have been nothing but generous and kind, and have only tried to help me, and all I've done was take it for granted and bring trouble into their lives.

After school, I ride the bus home.

I tell Prim that Peeta had texted me, and that he seemed to be all right. This appeases her a bit, but not by much; especially with the bakery being closed. She might be young, but she's aware that something bad had to have happened to him.

I try to call Peeta again, but I still get no answer. I try texting, but I get no reply.

As before, his silence cuts deeper than anything he could ever say to me.

I do my best to keep a strong face on for Prim, but eventually my resolve breaks and I finally cry in front of her. She hugs me and says that "it's about time."

When I go to feed my mother, it takes me a good five minutes or more to rouse her. At first, terror runs through me at the thought that she might be in a coma—which I'm honestly surprised she _hasn't_ slipped into by now—but she eventually opens her eyes, and relief washes over me. However, I'm aware that it's only a _temporary_ relief. I know that one day, probably soon, I'm going to come home and try to feed her, and she _won't_ wake. And if she doesn't wake, I can't feed or hydrate her, and she'll die a slow death.

I have no idea what I'll do when that happens, or how Snow will react.

It dawns on me then that maybe Peeta _was_ right.

I _can't_ keep doing this on my own, and even if his plan winds up having a bad outcome, I can't see anything good coming out of the current situation.

It's a toss-up either way.

* * *

I wake on Friday morning feeling extremely tired.

I'd barely gotten any sleep the night prior, having been crying and thinking way too much.

To add to the bad luck I've been having lately, it's raining outside when we have to walk to the end of the driveway to catch the bus. Though I find a piece of plastic for us to huddle under, it does little good as the wind merely blows the rain onto us from the side. We're entirely soaked by the time we reach the bus stop, but I could care less about it when I see who's waiting on us.

_Peeta._

My mouth goes dry and my heart starts to pound; I don't know if I'm happy or scared to see him. After yesterday, I have no idea what to expect out of him at all. Just the fact that he showed up is a huge relief, though, because it means he still cares on some level.

We take our usual seats in his car, thankful to be out of the rain. Prim immediately leans over the seat and hugs him, and though I notice he has dark circles beneath his eyes and he seems a bit stressed, a smile comes to his face as he reaches an arm back and gives her a half-hug in return.

"Thank you for picking us up this morning," Prim says as she sits back and buckles her seatbelt. Her voice takes on a more hardened tone as she continues, "We missed you yesterday. We were _really _worried, Peeta. You should have at least called Katniss and let us know how you were."

"She's right, you know," I add quietly. I feel his gaze on me, but I don't look up from my lap as I fidget nervously with the hem of my shirt. "We missed you. I was really worried."

He takes me by surprise and brings his hand to mine, stilling my anxious movements, and twining our fingers together. My skin is ice cold from the wind and rain, and I realize I'm shivering all over, but the warmth of his hand in mine sends a sudden jolt of heat throughout my whole body, and causes me to tremble in an entirely different way.

I finally glance over at him to find him studying me rather intensely. He licks his lips and shrugs, "It was a_… really_ busy day. I'm sorry I made you worry, but at least you know how I feel _every single time_ I drop you both off."

"I answer your texts, though," I mutter, squeezing his fingers between mine.

"Yeah, in the _morning_," he counters. "After I've already stayed awake half the night wondering if you're okay. And here lately you don't answer them at all."

His words sting a little because they're totally true. Since we've been arguing, I hadn't replied to any of his texts, and even when we were on good terms, I was still bad about answering. I never realized how aggravating it is to be so worried about someone and have to wait on tenterhooks to find out if they're all right or not.

I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. I just hold him there for a moment, my eyes closed as I take in the feeling of his skin against my lips.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"So… are you two back together yet?" Prim enquires with a sigh from the backseat, startling both of us. "Seriously. Just kiss and make up already. You're perfect for each other."

Neither of us answers Prim, but our hands remain locked together as we begin our drive into town.

And it's strange how, as angry and fearful as I've been about everything this week, I now feel overwhelmingly calm and as if everything is going to be okay.

* * *

We stop by the bakery to dry off a little and get something to eat.

Peeta gives Prim one of his work shirts to wear while he dries her clothes in the dryer, and he hands me a bag full of the new clothes I'd left at his house. I hesitate before taking them out of his hand, but he points out that I can't go to school drenched and I might get sick besides, so I ultimately decide to take his advice.

I change into the new underwear and sports bra he'd bought me, and I'm amazed that they fit perfectly. As for my outfit, I decide to wear the purple dandelion shirt and a pair of black jogging pants. They're not too tight and not too loose. They're just right. I feel comfortable and, most of all, overwhelmed to be wearing brand new clothes—especially ones that were bought specifically for me.

After we drop Prim off at school, Peeta asks if we can go somewhere to talk about things. I nod without a word, feeling my stomach flip as I wonder what 'things' he feels we need to discuss.

We say nothing until we're parked in our secret place by the lake.

"I'm sure you have an idea of what happened yesterday, and why I didn't call you," Peeta says as he turns the car off. I chew on my bottom lip and nod, guilt twisting my stomach into knots. "Dad asked me about everything you'd told him when I got home the other night. I'm not going to lie and say I was happy about it. At first, I thought that you did it to get back at me—"

"I didn't!" I cut him off emphatically, my eyes wide. "I _promise_ I didn't! I didn't even mean to tell your dad. It just… _happened_, and I didn't know how to tell you—"

"I _know_ you didn't," Peeta reassures me, a small forgiving half-smile on his face. "Like I said, I thought that _at first_, but after a while, I realized I knew better that you would never be that vindictive, no matter how angry you were. And Dad told me that you were pretty riled up about defending me when it came to my mom, so I figured you did it because you cared. At least, I hope so?"

I lock eyes with him and firmly reply, "Peeta, of _course_ I care about you. In fact, I care about you _very much_. I just… I fuck up sometimes, and I have a hard time admitting things… like being wrong. But I'm admitting it now. I messed up. I jumped to conclusions, acted on impulse, and I regret it. Most of all, I'm _really_ sorry I hurt you, and I'm surprised you don't hate me." I feel a lump in my throat and tears stinging my eyes, so I quickly look away from him and focus on watching the rain pour down the windshield.

"I could _never_ hate you," he replies adamantly. "_Ever_. I mean, I _will_ admit that sometimes you frustrate the hell out of me, but never so intensely that I could _ever_ stop loving you."

"Ditto on that," I whisper in return, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips and butterflies suddenly swarming in my stomach. It seems almost foreign to smile again after a week of frowning, but just sitting with Peeta in this place again makes me feel hopeful that things will be okay.

Peeta's silent for a moment before asking timidly, "Ditto on what?"

"What you just said," I shrug as casually as I can, knowing exactly what Peeta must be wondering. Do I love him? I don't know. All I _really _know is that I love the feeling I get when he's around, and I hate the thought of a life without him in it. He's silent again, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. "So what happened?" I ask curiously, turning to see him staring thoughtfully out his window at the rain hitting the lake. "With your dad and all."

"Honestly? All hell broke loose," he answers with a far off look, as if envisioning everything that had happened. "When I admitted everything to Dad, he confronted Mom about it. She denied everything, of course, but Dad didn't believe her. Proja tried to fight me because he thought I was making things up. Eventually the whole thing ended with me packing my things and sleeping in the bakery overnight with Dad. The next day—_yesterday_—he got a hold of the landlord who owns the apartment I was supposed to start renting in November, and asked if I could move in earlier than planned if I paid a little more. The landlord was fine with it. Dad cosigned the lease, I paid a few months in advance, and I'm going to be moving into my very own place this weekend. So as stressful as it all was, it worked out for the best," he shrugs. "So really, I guess I should be thanking you."

"I _really_ don't deserve any thanks," I wistfully reply with a small shake of my head. "But I'm glad everything worked out well for you. I was really worried…." I gulp and my heart quickens as he tucks a stray hair behind my ear, then lightly traces the curve of my cheekbone with his thumb. I try to keep my voice even and controlled when I ask, "How are your parents taking everything? Are they splitting up for good?"

"Looks that way. Dad was angrier than I'd ever seen him in my entire life," Peeta says with wide eyes. "He's planning on moving into the upstairs of the bakery, told Mom she could have the house. She said she'd sell the drafty thing and move to a beach house in California. Surprisingly, she didn't seem very upset with the idea of a divorce. They've both been unhappy with each other since before I can even remember, and I think they knew it was the right time to end things. In my opinion, it should have happened a lot sooner."

I nod slowly and narrow my eyes at the raindrops trailing down the window in a thick sheet. Peeta says all of this as if it's a good thing, but I can't help the righteous anger boiling in the pit of my stomach.

"It doesn't seem right that your mom gets to move off and live a happy life with all the horrible things she's done to you," I state indignantly. "She shouldn't be able to get away with it, and she sure as hell shouldn't get anything out of it!"

"Yeah, but I can't _prove_ anything she's done," he replies quietly, almost distractedly, and trails his hand as lightly as a feather down my cheek and neck before resting it on my shoulder. I close my eyes as he begins to lightly massage it, and I lean contentedly back in my seat. "Anyway, it'll be the best justice I could ever dream of to have her out of my life completely, in a whole different state, and never have to see her again."

"I imagine so," I remark, feeling lightheaded, and it has nothing to do with the painkiller I took this morning. I can't help wondering how freeing it would be to know you'll never be hurt again, to never again see the face of the person who has, for so many years, brought nothing but pain into your life. "Congrats on the new place, by the way. Maybe you can show it to me sometime."

"Of course I will," Peeta answers quickly. "You know…" He trails off and his hand stills on my shoulder. I open my eyes to see him biting his lip, a look of hesitation on his face. I questioningly raise my eyebrows at him and he shrugs, seemingly bashful about saying what's on his mind, and I feel slightly disappointed when he retrieves his hand from my shoulder and runs it through his hair. He finally releases a slow breath, as if working up his courage, and blurts quietly, "It has an extra room."

"Oh," I reply, and I can't really think of anything else to say.

"My offer still stands, you know," he continues with a bit more confidence, placing his hand on top of mine and giving it a small squeeze. "You could move in with me. You, Prim, and your mom. The entire apartment complex is gated, and the garage is covered and gated, too. You can't even _enter _the place without identifying yourself and being buzzed in by someone in the building. There are security cameras all over the place; in the halls and around the premise. Oh, and it's just a mile into the next town over, meaning the police here have no jurisdiction over there. You'll be protected, I promise you, Katniss. No one will hurt you or your family…."

I close my eyes and chew nervously on my lip as I contemplate what he's asking me. Every fiber in my being wants to say no, it's too risky, Snow will find and kill us, but I think of the way we're living now. I remind myself that I'm in constant fear of being killed anyway, that my mother is on the brink of death and it'll be a miracle if she makes it through the winter, and how Prim has been showing signs of rebelliousness and resentfulness lately that I know will only get worse, and Snow will have no problem beating it out of her. Either way we run the risk of being killed. However, staying where we are, it's not simply a possibility, but a matter of time.

At least if I die because of this, or if someone I love gets killed, I'll know that I actively tried to save us. That I _tried_ to do the right thing.

"Okay," I whisper, in disbelief of what I'm agreeing to. My body is trembling like crazy, and I try to ignore the overwhelming feeling of dread that's trying to overshadow the hope. I open my eyes and ask him in a shaky, yet serious voice, "Just promise me one thing?"

"_Anything_."

"That you won't leave me alone to pick up the pieces if things fall apart," I say warily, giving his hand a squeeze and threading our fingers together. "That this is serious for you."

"Like I said before, it's always _been_ serious for me," he answers. "I _promise_ you, whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together."

"Peeta?" I pause for a moment, daring myself to admit out loud what I've realized since we'd broken up.

"Yeah?"

"It's serious for me, too," I reply meaningfully, remembering the harsh words I'd said when I'd broken up with him. "I didn't mean a lot of the things I said to you, Peeta. I was angry, I felt betrayed, and I was lashing out at you."

"I know," he says. "I never meant to make you feel betrayed, Katniss. I'm doing this because you and Prim deserve so much better, and those assholes need to pay for what they're doing. It needs to end. You deserve justice. _You deserve_ _happiness._"

"I know," I agree quietly. "And you're right, about what you said. I'm scared as hell. I'm worried how this will turn out. I expect the worst, because nothing _good_ ever happens to me…" I pause and open my eyes again to look over at Peeta, adding strongly, "Not until I met you. You're the _best_ thing that's ever happened to me, Peeta. Being away from you, fighting like we have been… it hurts worse than anything Snow could ever do to me. I won't lie and say that I'm completely comfortable and optimistic about what you're doing, but I've come to understand why you feel it needs to be done. I just… I hope it works out for the best and no one gets hurt in the process."

"It _will_ work out for the best," he answers confidently. "I'll make sure of it. I'm not going at this situation without thinking of the consequences. Haymitch might be a bit abrasive—"

"A _bit_?" I snort and roll my eyes.

"Okay, a lot. But he knows what he's doing. He has a long track record of getting things done. This sort of situation isn't new to him."

"I'll take your word for it. I still think he's a huge asshole, though," I mutter grudgingly. "And I really think you should reconsider the free baked goods thing, because the way he was going at them, you'll be put out of business within a week."

Peeta chuckles lightly as he brings my hand up to his lips and places a gentle, lingering kiss upon it. Closing his eyes, he lays my palm flat against his cheek, covers my hand with his, and takes a deep breath before whispering, "I wish I could make you feel how much I love you."

"You already do," I whisper back. "All the time."

I don't know what comes over me, but I feel daring and brave. I feel empowered and hopeful. I gaze at the peaceful, adoring look on Peeta's handsome face and I can't believe how lucky I am to have him in my life. I can't help but wonder if I'd never went to his house to sell blackberries this summer, would we even be here now? It's strange to think that I would have never felt his lips on mine, or heard his whisper in my ear. I would have never felt the gentle caress of his hands or the warmth of his arms around me.

I never would have known what I was missing, either, because I never knew I wanted any of this until it happened. And now I can't imagine a life without it; I can't imagine a life without _him_.

Without overthinking it, I bring my knees up under me and move closer to Peeta, thankful that his car has a full front seat. He opens his eyes to look at me curiously, but instead of answering him with words, I answer him with a kiss.

I place both of my hands on the sides of his face, brushing his skin lightly with my fingertips, and he hesitantly rests his palms on my lower back to bring me closer.

Kissing him again feels like a dream.

As soon as my lips touch his, I feel alive again, I feel a spark ignite inside me as it had before, but there's something different about it now. It feels more_… real_. More intimate. There's also a new sort of hunger. Not the sort of hunger that settles in your stomach, but the sort that settles in your heart and makes you realize how starved for human contact you really are.

We don't even pull away from each other when I decide to get closer and straddle his thighs. He runs his hands up and down the length of my back before he lifts the hem of my shirt and places his palms flat against the bare skin of my torso. I delicately move my fingertips across his jawline and down his neck, feeling him tense up slightly from my touch as our mouths move slowly together, reacquainting and savoring the taste and texture of each other with growing fervor.

Peeta pulls back for a moment, whispering with concern, "Does this hurt you at all? Your ribs—"

I place a finger to his lips, my mouth only an inch away from his and the tips of our noses touching.

"The swelling's down, and I think they're only bruised. At least they don't hurt half as bad as they did a week ago. With the painkiller, I barely even feel them anymore," I whisper assuredly in return. "Even if they _did_ still hurt, I'd endure it. I missed this."

"I missed _you_," he murmurs.

"I missed _us_," I reply.

I move my lips softly along the surface of his, not as a kiss, but just to _feel _them, to appreciate their warmth and talent. He soon captures my top lip between his and runs the tip of his tongue along the edge; I bring my arms around his neck as I envelop his plump bottom lip with my mouth, and our kisses quickly grow more ardent as our tongues passionately find the confines of each other's mouths.

There's an intense throbbing between my legs again, along with the pooling warmth that comes with it, and it fuels me in wanting to be even closer to him. I want to feel _more_. As embarrassed as it makes me, I want to feel what I felt the night I had the dream.

Without breaking our kiss, I move his palm from my stomach to my breast, keeping my hand over him, sighing against his mouth as he gives it a squeeze and runs his thumb over the middle.

He pulls away again and whispers near my ear, "It's incredibly sexy seeing you in the shirt I bought you. It'd be even sexier to watch you take it off."

I lean back, smiling as I arch an eyebrow and murmur, "Only if you take yours off too this time."

Without breaking eye contact, he immediately and quickly removes his shirt and tosses it to the side. I laugh and roll my eyes before moving forward to give him a quick kiss and leaning back again to remove my own.

Peeta's eyes immediately fix upon the bruise along the side of my ribcage. He gently runs his fingertips over it, frowning and shaking his head as he says, "It looks way better than before, but I still hate seeing this. _This_ is why they need to pay." I feel self-conscious, but I say nothing. I simply look to the side with a heavy sigh and contemplate putting my shirt back on. He leans forward and kisses my collarbone, however, and assures me, "You're still sexy as hell, though." He brings his hand to my breast, kneading it with his palm as he asks with bright curious eyes, "Hey, is this the bra I bought you, too?"

I nod as I reach out and run my palms down his chest and abs, my hands hesitating right above the zipper of his pants. His breathing is noticeably quicker as he says in a breathy, seductive tone, "As sexy as the bra is on you, I'd really love to see what it's holding."

"You're _awfully_ cocky this morning," I remark with amusement, giving in to his request without hesitation. I remove my bra and glance up through my eyelashes to see him staring at me in somewhat of a daze.

"You have no idea, Katniss,_ no_ _idea_," he chuckles as he leans forward to plant an open-mouthed kiss on my nipple and begins to flick his tongue against it. I arch into him with a soft moan, my eyes fluttering shut.

"Oh, I have _some_ idea." He jumps and sucks in a ragged breath when I daringly run my palm over the bulge in the front of his pants. I laugh and bring my hand back up to his shoulder.

Peeta groans in reply and places his hands on my hips, squeezing them as he pulls my body closer to his. Our bare upper bodies meet for the very first time as I wrap my arms around his neck and we begin to kiss again. There's an urgency between us this time; as slow and tender as our kiss was before, this one contrasts it in its frenzied wantonness.

I gasp in surprise against his lips when he pulls my lower body to his, and at the same time, also thrusts up against me. I run my hands through his hair, matching his rhythm and pressure, our kisses growing in intensity as our bodies move together wildly and without volition. I feel something building within me, a growing pressure in the pit of my stomach, much like the feeling I'd had when I'd touched myself in the bathtub before I was interrupted. I move even quicker against him, seeking some sort of answer to the feeling inside of me, moving my lips from his mouth to his neck, trailing kisses down to his shoulder. He moans loudly and then he suddenly stops.

"What's wrong?" I whisper hoarsely near his ear.

"Nothing's _wrong_," he answers with a shrug, his voice wavering slightly. "I just… don't want a repeat of what happened on our date…."

I lean back and look at him. His face is red, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are lustful, and I'm certain mine mirror his. I don't want this to end, not yet, and I'm sure he doesn't either.

I bite my lip, finding that my curiosity overshadows my embarrassment when I ask, "Can I... _see_ it?"

"See _what_?" Peeta asks slowly. He searches my face intently to see if I meant what he thinks.

I do.

"You," I touch the front of his pants. "What happens…."

Peeta's eyes widen in surprise and his mouth drops open. He looks speechless and uncertain. I raise my eyebrows for an answer, feeling my stomach doing flips, and I'm about to tell him to forget I asked when he replies with a gulp and a nod, "Okay."

I've never seen a penis before, at least not one that wasn't in a school textbook, and to say I'm anxious would be an understatement. I bring my trembling hands to the button on his pants and undo it before slowly unzipping the rest. I suck in a deep breath and try to relax, but it's impossible as the realization of what I'm doing hits me. I glance up at Peeta to see that his eyes are closed tightly and he doesn't really seem to be breathing at all. I can tell that he's just as nervous as I am, and it reassures me a little.

I push his pants down to his sides, closing my eyes as I gather my bravery and pull his boxers down too. He takes in a deep breath and I finally open my eyes. I look down at it, bite my lip, and as hard as I try to repress it, a snort escapes me. I cover my mouth and look away as my chest starts to heave with laughter.

"Uh, Katniss?" Peeta asks with a slight defensiveness to his voice. "That's the total _opposite _reaction a guy wants to receive from his girlfriend at a time like this."

I turn back to him and try to answer, but I just break down into another fit of giggles.

He sighs and frowns, "I don't know what's so funny anyway. I'm _above_ average."

"It's… not _that_," I answer, shaking my head. Honestly, I have no idea if what he's saying is true. I have nothing to compare it to. From the brief glimpse I'd had of it, it seemed to be quite adequate, though. "It… just… it looks…" I cover my mouth again and look up at the roof. When I feel the laughter die down, I continue, "It looks like a giant _worm_! Like a giant worm wearing a hard hat."

Peeta's mouth drops open and he seems speechless for a moment. He then knits his eyebrows together and looks down at it before shrugging and nodding in agreement, "Yeah, I guess I can see that. The hard hat part makes sense, really."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. I've just never seen—"He cuts me off with a kiss before I can finish.

Making sure not to look down, I wrap my hand around him, moving up along it a bit, noticing how the thin, delicate skin moves along with my palm, but the thickness beneath it stays put. I'm surprised at how it can be so soft and hard at the same time. I do this a few times, gently and slowly, and it seems to be the right thing to do since Peeta moans deeply in encouragement and thrusts his hips upward to meet my movements.

"Does that feel good to you?" I whisper curiously.

He nods quickly and replies in a raspy voice, "God, _yes_."

"So I'm doing this right?"

"There's really no _wrong_ way for you to do it, believe me," he answers with a small chuckle. However, he places his hand over mine and begins to guide me. He quickens my pace before letting go again, and I take the hint to keep increasing my speed and pressure. He drops his head back onto the seat, his eyes closed, and his hips bucking against me. Pleasured groans and sighs escape him as he occasionally gives me single words of encouragement. Suddenly, he grabs the sides of my face and pulls me into a hard kiss. His body tenses up as he groans into my mouth and something wet lands on my hand.

His whole body then goes completely limp as he pulls away from me, completely breathless.

"Wow," he whispers.

I look down and see that he's not hard anymore, but there's white liquid everywhere. It dawns on me that this was why he had to change his pants on our date.

Peeta must have seen what I was looking at because he mutters a quick, "Yeah, sorry about that."

He reaches into the backseat to retrieve one of his work shirts, and dries my hand and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaned up. When he's done, he tosses the shirt aside and leans forward to kiss my breast. As he runs his hands up my legs and to my thighs, he kisses his way up my chest, to my neck, and whispers in my ear, "Katniss?"

"Hmmm?" I answer, feeling lightheaded as his hands move closer to my center, and I have a feeling I know what he's about to ask me.

"Can I touch you?" he asks, kissing my earlobe. "Please?"

My heart beats rapidly, my hands shake, and my voice seems to be temporarily missing, but somehow I manage a small nod. The throbbing between my legs is nearly unbearable in its ache to be touched, and somehow I just _know_ his hands will feel amazing.

I close my eyes tightly, biting my lip as he slips the elastic waistline of my jogging pants down to my thighs. When I feel his hand move between my legs and begin to rub me, it takes all my willpower not to buck wildly against him; I can't do anything to stop the sighs, whimpers, and moans that escape me. It feels amazing. _Better _than amazing. I never want it to stop.

I _need_ to do something, so I plant little open mouthed kisses along his chest, neck, jaw, and finally I settle on his mouth. I can't really concentrate on kissing very well, however, because all I can think of is the pure bliss that Peeta's giving me below.

"Is this the underwear I bought you, too?" he asks suddenly, pulling back to look at me curiously.

"Yeah," I answer timidly with a shrug, feeling a little disappointed when his hand stops. "Everything I had on this morning was wet."

"Are you _sure_ this isn't the underwear you were wearing this morning?" he asks with a sudden mischievous smile.

"Yeah, I'm positive. Why?"

"Because they're really wet," Peeta replies with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows, moving his fingers over the fabric with more pressure and quickness. He hits the sensitive spot at the very top, and my mouth drops open, both from the powerful jolt that runs through my body at the contact and from the mortification of his statement.

"Well, I can't help it!" I reply in a scandalized tone.

He laughs, "I don't want you to, either. It means I'm obviously doing _something_ right. _Very_ right, from the feel of things."

I'm about to reply when he brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply. Before I know what's happening, he turns and lays me down on the bench seat of his car. I look up at him in question, but he only answers me by lifting my hips and pulling my underwear and pants down to my ankles, and then off of my body completely.

"Peeta…" I whisper, closing my legs together self-consciously. It's dawning on me that I'm sitting completely naked in front of him, and I'm not sure how far he thinks this is going to go. "I'm sorry. I can't… we can't…."

"Can't _what_?" he asks me in concern, lifting my chin and meeting my eyes with his. "Katniss, if you're not ready for me to touch you like this—"

"Sex," I blurt, my face burning. "It's… I'm not ready for that. Not yet."

"I wasn't _expecting_ you to be," he reassures with a lighthearted smile before kissing my forehead. He places his hand gently upon my inner thigh and massages it. "I would never expect our first time to be in the front seat of a car. I'd like it to be _slightly_ more romantic and meaningful than that." He laughs and raises his eyebrows at me, and I can't help but give a small smile back. "Until we're _both_ ready for that, there are _plenty_ of alternatives we _can_ do."

"Like what?"

"For starters, simply touching you is pretty amazing," he says, stilling his hand hestitantly. "Are you okay with this? Because if you're not—"

"I am," I answer quickly. "As long as it's _only_ touching."

He nods and kisses me as his hand continues to slowly inch upward. I hesitantly open my legs a little bit to make it easier for him, feeling awkward to let him see me but also curious as to what his direct touch will feel like.

I lay back as I feel his strong, yet gentle fingers part me and glide along my opening. My eyes flutter shut, and I open my legs further as little ticklish waves of pleasure sweep through me at his touch. He finds the little nub at the top and runs his index finger over it repeatedly, causing me to cry out at the sudden and intense shock of sensitivity.

I feel the pressure building in my stomach again.

"You are _breathtakingly _beautiful, Katniss Everdeen," Peeta whispers strongly. "And I love everything about you."

I can't even bring myself to reply because my mouth can't seem to form any words. He draws his fingers together and rubs the sensitive spot with quick little circles, faster and faster, and all I can do is sigh and moan my approval as my hips thrust upward to meet the rhythm of his hand. My back arches, my heart is racing, and my breath is coming in short bursts.

The feeling in my abdomen is building and intensifying and I know that whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon.

And then it does.

I cry out as it feels like a bomb of pleasure is exploding in the very center of my being, travelling like a lightning bolt to every nerve ending in my body. It's the same feeling I got from the dream, except this time it's ten times better because Peeta made it happen.

I lay there for a moment, my eyes still closed as I catch my breath and try to gain my composure again. Peeta lies down beside me and kisses my cheek as he trails his hand up to my chest.

I get lost in the sound of raindrops hitting the roof of the car and the feeling of Peeta's warm, strong hand gently caressing my breast. He leaves open mouthed kisses along my collarbone, slowing more sensuously as he continues up along the curve of my neck.

I smile lazily as he whispers huskily into my ear, "I'm dreaming, right? There's no way this is real, that you're lying naked beside me," he gives a quiet chuckle and kisses my earlobe. "And to think there was a time when you wouldn't even let me see your hands…."

The vibration of his voice being so near to my skin sends ticklish waves throughout my body and causes goose bumps to prickle my skin. My nipples also stand on end, which Peeta notices with another small laugh as he begins to trace his fingertips over one of them.

"I think you're right. This _is _a dream," I reply breathlessly. "Real life can't be this good."

"Yes it can be," he whispers strongly. "From here on out, it _will_ be." His hand stills and I look up to see him gazing down at me with dreamy, awe-filled eyes. And for a moment, we just stare at each other, drinking the other in with hope, longing, and lustful curiosity; our eyes asking so many questions, but our mouths saying nothing as we continue to smile knowingly at each other; we'll find the answers together.

He leans down and captures my lips with his, and I run my fingers through the damp curls at the base of his neck as I bring him closer to me. I make a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a moan as our kiss deepens, my body trembling and tensing as his fingertips ghost from my breast, down my torso, to my thighs, before finally working their way between my legs again.

As pleasure claims my body again, I know we won't be stepping a foot inside school today.

* * *

**A/N: **Ugh, sorry it took me so long to update this chapter. But as you can see, it's definitely the longest yet and it was a pretty important one. I hope you enjoyed it! I will probably update with much shorter chapters from now on, though, so I can update faster and people don't have to wait so long (not _super_ short, just not 18k+ words.)

Also, I'm on tumblr: dandelionsunsetff (link is in profile) – so stop by and say hi or comment on the story if you'd like. Thanks! :)


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